


On Edge

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And we're ignoring the nonsense in 6b, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), M/M, Post-Canon, Sane Peter Hale, Sexual Content, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten, Threats of Violence, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, except the part where Peter's filthy rich and drives a sports car, malia doesn't exist in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: “What do you mean, Stiles is missing?” Peter demands, scowling at the phone."Missing, Hale! Can you help find him or not?" The sheriff's voice cracks, and Peter can tell he's out of his mind with worry. Peter doesn't blame him.In which Stiles gets bitten by a rogue alpha and bolts into the preserve, terrified and out of control.Peter's the one best qualified to find him, because Stiles is Peter's mate.Peter maybe hasn't quite gotten around to telling him that part yet, but Stiles is his, and he's damned if he's going to lose him to some feral alpha.He's going to find his boy, bring him home, and as for the rest? Well, Peter has a plan.It's Peter. He always has a plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maladicta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maladicta/gifts).



> Happy birthday Maladicta!  
> An incredibly late birthday present based on this pic.  
> 
> 
> Because we're hopeless Steter tragics, I tweaked it to "Stiles going missing after being bitten by a feral alpha, and Peter being the one who knows his scent best, and can track him down. He finds Stiles, dirty and naked and afraid."
> 
> This damned thing is currently 12k long and I'm not finished yet. How many chapters? No idea. Posting schedule? What's that? But it's definitely going to be completed!

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean, Stiles is _missing?_ ” Peter demands, scowling at the phone.

 “Missing, Hale! As in, not here! Listen, three days ago I had a perfectly ordinary son -” Peter snorts at that, Stiles has never been ordinary - “And the next thing I know, Derek’s on my doorstep carrying my passed out kid and telling me Stiles has been bitten. Since then Stiles has spent most of his time holed up in his room with Derek, and Derek says they’re learning to control Stiles’s wolf, and that’s all fine and dandy.  But then last night Stiles gets a call from Scott and afterwards, he bolts out the back door, snarling and running like the hounds of Hell are after him. Derek tried, but even he couldn’t keep up, and I haven’t seen Stiles since. He had _claws,_ Peter. Stiles doesn’t have control, and I don’t know where he’s gone. Derek said you were the one who’d be able to find him the fastest. Help me? _Please?_ ” The sheriff's voice cracks a little.

A low growl escapes Peter. Stiles was _bitten?_ And he wasn’t _informed?_ He conveniently ignores the fact that he’s been unreachable for the last week as his baser possessive instincts come to the fore. He realizes the sheriff’s still waiting for an answer and drags himself back to the conversation at hand. “Derek’s right. Stiles and I are close. I’m probably the one who can track him the easiest.” He doesn’t imagine the other man’s sigh of relief.  ”More importantly though, what’s happened to the Were who bit Stiles? You can’t just have a rogue Alpha to run around biting people without their permission, John.” And no, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on him, thank you very much.

“Derek said he was sure you’d care of it, whatever that means, and I don’t want to know any details.”

“Probably for the best. Trust me when I say plausible deniability is your friend here.”

Peter hears a sound through the phone that could be disapproval, could be acknowledgement. “So, when can you get here? And what makes you so sure you can find him?”

  _Because your son smells tantalizing, like sex and magic, and I could find him in a room with a hundred other people,_ he doesn’t say.

  _Because werewolves have mates, and he’s mine, even though I haven’t told him yet_ , he doesn’t say.

  _Because I’m falling in love with your irritating, outspoken, challenging boy, even though he hasn’t agreed to a single date,_ he doesn’t say.

Instead he drawls, “Chemicals, Sheriff. Stiles gives off a distinct tang from the Adderall, and I’m sensitive to it. Plus, I have more than a few years’ experience under my belt when it comes to hunting things down.”

 There’s a moment’s silence. “You can… _smell_ the medication Stiles takes?”

“And track his heartbeat, among other things. I’ll find Stiles for you.” Peter checks his watch. “I can be there in an hour.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peter had recognized Stiles as his mate soon as he met him. The knowledge had shocked him at the time, because Stiles was little more than a child, despite his posturing and attitude and smart mouth, but Peter’s wolf was insistent. _This was the one._ And when Peter looked again, he could see that this gorgeous, bratty, infuriating boy had the potential to grow into someone magnificent. As Peter’s mate, he could stand with him as they ran the pack, could help him select the right betas. He was pretty of course, there was no denying that, and Peter could only imagine how much more attractive he’d get once he’d finished navigating his teenage years. Peter had to agree with his wolf. Stiles was, indeed, the one.

But he’d been too eager, too drunk on alpha power and madness and moonlight. In his haste to offer Stiles the bite, he’d failed to consider that Stiles still thought him a monster, thought that he was the bad guy. Stiles’s expression had flickered between disbelief and terror as Peter told him just how good it could be, and he’d pulled his arm away at the last minute and shattered Peter’s hopes with the words “I don’t want to be like you.”

Peter wolf had snarled in frustration, and he’d considered biting Stiles anyway, but then he’d noticed something. On the words _I don’t want_ , Stiles’s heartbeat had skipped.

_Stiles was lying._

And that, that was enough for Peter to pull himself together, step away from his mate, and quietly vow that next time he asked, he’d get it right. It had taken everything in Peter to walk away, but he had. He’d bided his time, built a slow friendship with Stiles, and never, ever given any indication that he wanted him, not for six long years. He watched as Stiles dated a variety of women, before going on a single date with some guy while he was at college, and declaring that he was gay. The only one who’d been surprised was Scott, and possibly Stiles himself.

Stiles is Peter’s mate, and Peter’s been working his way into Stiles’s affections for the last year, ever since Stiles moved home. And he’s damned if he’s going to lose him because of some feral Alpha.

 

* * *

 

He calls Derek as he drives, to find out exactly what happened. It’s as he thought – there was a rogue Alpha, and Stiles was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Derek’s been watching over Stiles, helping him as he struggles with the change, but something Scott said triggered Stiles last night, and he’s gone on the run. “He was almost feral, Peter. I tried to run him down, but the little bastard _bit_ me and bolted, and then I lost the trail. I’ve been trying to call you since he was bitten, but you were out of range,” Derek tells him. Because he’s a wolf, Derek can tell how  Peter feels about Stiles of course, even though they don’t talk about it.

Peter assures Derek that he’s on his way, and then grills his nephew for details of when and where Stiles was attacked, and where the offending Alpha might be now. Turns out Derek knows exactly where he is – holed up in a shitty motel on the edge of town. “I left him for you,” Derek tells him, and Peter takes a moment to appreciate the gesture. He’s never made a secret of his desire for Alpha power, and Derek’s handing it to him on a plate.

He suspects, not for the first time, that Derek is chafing under the yoke of the McCall whelp’s so-called leadership. Once he has his power back ( _it’s his it’s always been his the Alpha always the Alpha he was born for this)_ he decides he’ll invite Derek to join his pack. He’s certain Derek will say yes - blood’s thicker than water, after all. Besides, McCall’s an idiot, and Derek’s never been one to suffer fools. Maybe it’s a family trait.

Peter pulls up to the Stilinski house fifty minutes later, and it’s an indication of just how worried the Sheriff is that he doesn’t even chip Peter for speeding. What he does ask is, “So, how come Stiles never mentioned that you two are close?”

Peter arches a brow. “Stiles is twenty-two, Sheriff. Tell me, how exactly would you have reacted to him telling you he was spending time with a thirty-six year old?”

“Yeah, maybe you’ve got a point.” The sheriff hesitates for a beat, before asking, “It’s not…anything like that, is it?”

Gods, Peter wishes the answer was yes. Wishes he could say _‘Yes, we’re a couple’_.  But they’re not quite…there, not yet, although he’s made definite progress. Instead he snorts and shakes his head. “Stiles is fascinated by the supernatural, and I happen to own a lot of rare books on the subject. He spends a lot of time at my place reading, and stealing all my snacks.” He carefully doesn’t say that there _isn’t_ anything else going on, and in his worried state the sheriff doesn’t notice the omission. Peter’s quietly grateful.

“Sorry, Peter. I had to ask.” Peter sees the man relax, just a little, and thinks to himself that when the day comes that he and Stiles do get together, this conversation is definitely going to come back and bite him on the ass. (He has no doubt that the day _will_ come, he’s just approaching the whole situation…carefully. He knows he’ll only get one more shot at this with Stiles, so he’s treading very lightly.) He dismisses it as a problem for Future Him. Right now, his only focus is on getting Stiles back, safe and alive.

The sheriff’s looking at him with something like desperation, obviously waiting for Peter to _do something._ Peter takes a deep breath and says “Take me to his room. I need to get the scent of him. It will have changed, now he’s a wolf.”

It’s not a total lie, but it’s not exactly true, either. Peter’s been gone for weeks, and he wants, no, _needs,_ to fill his lungs with the aroma of Stiles. The sheriff leads him upstairs without protest, and Peter steps into the room, closes his eyes, and just _breathes._ All his senses fill with the acrid stench of fear sweat and panic and trauma, almost drowning out the deep, spicy musk that Peter associates with Stiles. It makes his gut churn, thinking of how much distress his boy must have been in for his scent to sour like this.

“I’ll be in touch. I can find him now,” he says shortly, and strides out of the room and out of the house without another word. He manages to keep it together long enough to find a side road he can pull over on, lurching out of the car and puking his guts up in an effort to rid himself of the ghost of Stiles’s distress. Peter hasn’t thrown up in years, and it’s exactly as revolting as he remembered it, the stink of acid and green bile burning his sensitive nose and throat. All his senses are suddenly on the edge of overload, and he knows it’s because his mate’s out there, unsafe, alone, afraid, and Peter needs to find him, _now._

He just has to call into a certain shitty motel on the way.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter doesn’t hold back as he slashes the throat of the rogue alpha. “ _You bit my mate,”_ he hisses, ignoring the wet, gurgling cries from his victim. He has no time for pity, not now. He plunges his claws deep into the alpha’s chest, and drags them upwards. The man lets out a strangled howl, and his body goes limp. The power hits, slamming into Peter’s body like a freight train. Peter shudders, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he endures the onslaught, feels something snap into place. A roar leaves his body. When he opens his eyes, everything has a red tinge to it, and he can feel a _pull,_ something calling out to him.

It’s Stiles. When he took the alpha power, he inherited the pack bond. Peter grins to himself, sharp and satisfied, and goes to find his boy.

He only stops long enough to wash the blood off his hands before setting out after Stiles. He walks for hours, but that’s nothing he hadn’t expected. Stiles has made no attempt to cover his tracks, just forged ahead, covering ground at an unbelievable pace, exactly what Peter would expect from a spooked new wolf. Peter knows it’s because he’s running scared, and his heart aches for his poor boy. He wonders precisely what McCall said. Nothing good, probably. Peter can still remember, even through the haze of his coma, the fresh burn of anger at hearing Scott maintain that the Argents probably had a good reason for murdering his family. Not for the first time, he reflects that biting Scott was a mistake. He drags his thoughts away from Scott McCall, because getting angry won’t help him right now. What he needs to do is stay calm and find Stiles. The thought of Stiles stumbling around the woods, naked and confused, half mad with fright, causes a whine to leave Peter’s throat unbidden. He needs his mate safe.

But Peter thinks he knows exactly where Stiles has gone, and the trail he’s following seems to support his theory. His suspicions are confirmed when he finds the spot at the foot of the steep wall they’ve climbed together many times before. The whole clearing’s saturated on Stiles’s scent. Peter has a suspicion that Stiles has peed there to claim it as his own. Stiles as a human couldn’t get up the wall before, needed Peter to help him, but now that he’s a wolf? Peter guesses he scaled the cliff face without a problem.

Stiles has gone to his happy place.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m just saying, you don’t get to be all high and mighty about the ‘secrets of the preserve’ Zombiewolf.  Scotty and I have spent hours there, probably been over every inch of it a hundred times. I bet there’s not one spot you can show me that we haven’t explored.”_

_”Is that so?” Peter arched a brow at Stiles. “So, if you’re wrong, what do I get?”_

_“What?”_

_“Stiles, you clearly just said that you bet there wasn’t a spot in that preserve you haven’t seen. So I’m asking, what’s my prize when I prove you wrong?”_

_Stiles bit his lip. “Um…”_

_“That’s what I thought. All talk, and nothing to back it up.” Peter tapped a finger consideringly against his goatee, knowing full well it made him look like a cartoon villain – he’d practiced it in the mirror to make sure. “How about this? Tomorrow, I take you and show you somewhere you’ve never seen, and then I collect my prize.”_

_“Assuming you win,” Stiles challenged, and Peter smirked. God, this boy was infuriating. Peter couldn’t wait till he got to have him as his own. Maybe it was time to start working on that._

_“When I win,” Peter continued as though Stiles hadn’t spoken, “You give me my prize. And I think I’d like…to kiss those perfect lips of yours.”_

_Stiles’s mouth dropped open and hung there for a moment before he snapped it shut angrily. “Oh fuck off, Peter. You’re not even gay!”_

_“I’m bisexual, actually. And what, the thought of kissing me is so repulsive? You don’t find me attractive? I’m wounded, Stiles. I thought we had something.” Peter attempted a hurt look, but he couldn’t stop the smug grin breaking through._

_“Asshole,” Stiles muttered under his breath, but Peter noted the blush that was spreading up his neck. He looked Peter in the eye, and huffed out,”Fine. Show me somewhere new, and I’ll give you a kiss. But no tongue. And I’m still not convinced there’ll be anywhere I haven’t seen.”_

_“We’ll see,” Peter hummed non-committally. He knew exactly where they were going._

_The next morning found them trekking through the preserve, Peter striding easily and Stiles muttering and cursing as he struggled to keep up. When they reached the bottom of a particularly steep rock incline, Peter started forward, but Stiles stalled. “I can’t climb that,” he stated, arms crossed. “There’s no way to get up there.”_

_Peter turned from where he was halfway up the wall. “Oh really? Maybe not for a human, but for a were…” He let himself drop back to the ground, and offered Stiles a hand. “If you climb on my back, I’ll take you up. Unless you’re scared?”_

_Stiles only hesitated a moment. “Fucking showoff,” he mumbled, as he climbed onto Peter’s back and clung on like a particularly determined spider monkey. “Just don’t drop me.”_

_Peter laughed, and started to climb. He reveled in the feel of Stiles’s arms around him, the press of a hot body against his back, but more than that, he gloried in the fact that Stiles trusted him enough to let him do this. Maybe wooing Stiles would be easier than he thought. They were nearly at the top, and Peter slowed a little as he clambered over the steep edge to reveal a rocky outcrop that jutted out and gave a panoramic view of the whole preserve and the town beyond it. He loved coming up here, found a deep sense of peace in surveying the Hale territory, knowing that here, at least, nothing could catch him unawares._

_He felt Stiles let go of him and drop to the ground, and only mourned the loss a little. Stiles stared out over the scene before him. “Well, fuck.”_

_“If you’re offering, I wouldn’t say no, but I believe we agreed on a kiss?” Peter stepped up behind Stiles and wrapped his arms around his waist, and he noted that Stiles made no move to pull away. If anything, he leaned back into Peter’s touch. Interesting. Peter let Stiles lean back against him as he took in the sight of all of Beacon Hills spread out below him._

_Finally, Stiles moved away and stepped closer to the edge. “What is this place? It feels…there’s something here. It’s peaceful.”_

_Peter shrugged. “I’d say it’s magic, but I’d be lying. I think it’s just one of those perfect  little spots you find sometimes. I come here when I’m tempted to throttle Scott, and I find it soothes my soul a little.”_

_Surprisingly, Stiles didn’t leap to Scott’s defence, instead nodding. “You know, I can see it. It’s something else.”_

_“And you definitely haven’t been here before?” Peter made sure to keep his tone light, teasing._

_Stiles turned to him, expression serious. “Nope.” He hesitated before asking, “Did you really want a kiss?”_

_"I really want a kiss. I like you,Stiles. I find you attractive, and clever, and someone I'd like to spend more time with. I think we could be more than friends.” Peter leaned in a little closer, stopping with his mouth barely an inch from the shell of Stiles’s ear. “May I?” he whispered. How Stiles responded now was critical, and Peter found himself holding his breath._

_It seemed like an eternity before Stiles answered. “I mean, a bet’s a bet. And you look like you’d be a good kisser, for a dead guy.”_

_Peter wanted to howl with victory, but he tamped down on that urge firmly. Instead, he took Stiles’s face in his palms, and placed the lightest of kisses on the young man’s lips, just enough to tease. He lingered there for a few seconds, memorizing the taste and touch of Stiles’ mouth against his own, before pulling back._

_“That – that was it?” Peter could hear the disappointment in Stiles’s voice, smell the spike of arousal, hear the way his heart was thundering in his chest. Perfect._

_“Any more would be taking advantage of you. Trust me, Stiles, if I kissed you the way I want to, you wouldn’t be able to restrain yourself, and while it’s pretty here, it’s hardly a comfortable spot for a romantic encounter.” Peter indicated the hard, rocky outcrops._

_Stiles shot Peter an incredulous look. “Wow. I mean, I knew you had a big ego, but that’s some next level shit right there. ‘wouldn’t be able to restrain yourself’ my ass.”_

_Peter smirked. “See? One kiss and you’re offering me your ass already.”_

_“That’s not – I didn’t mean – Jesus, you’re something else, you know that?” Stiles squawked and sputtered, and Peter outright laughed at him._

_“Relax, Sweetheart. I’m just teasing.” He paused before saying, ”Think about my offer, Stiles.  We could be good together. And let me know when you decide. Now, are you ready to go back down?”_

_Stiles fidgeted for a moment. “Can we stay for a while? It’s really nice here.”_

_“Of course,” Peter agreed easily, folding his legs under him, getting comfy, and carefully sitting exactly far enough away from Stiles that their bodies wouldn’t touch, not unless Stiles leaned in and made it happen._

_They spent two hours sitting in near silence, soaking up the peace and the view. An hour in, Stiles leaned slightly to the left, their shoulders brushing together, and Peter smiled to himself._

_Progress._

 

* * *

It’s been three months since that first time, and they’ve visited the spot maybe a dozen times or more. Sometimes it‘s when Stiles has nightmares about the nogitsune, or a fight with Scott or his dad. He’ll get a certain set to his shoulders, tense and unforgiving.  Peter will catch his eye and raise a brow in silent query, and Stiles will nod stiffly. They’ll head out to the outcrop, and Peter will bitch about carrying Stiles up the rock face and tell him he could at least try the climb, and Stiles will snap back about how if he had any consideration for Stiles’s human frailty at all, he’d build a damn _ladder, Peter_.

They sit there together while Stiles clears the cobwebs from his brain, neither of them mentioning the kiss, or the conversation they had. Peter’s left that ball firmly in Stiles’s court. He knows if he’s patient, Stiles will bring it up when he’s ready.

And it’s working. When they come here, Stiles sits a little closer now, leans against Peter’s shoulder. Sometimes they hold hands. Peter can smell the boy’s arousal, but it’s tinged with uncertainty and his heart still jackrabbits when they make contact. But they _do_ make contact. And Peter’s seen the way Stiles looks at him, has seen the want writ large on his face. Once or twice Stiles has looked like he’s about to ask something, but he always closes his mouth again, and Peter doesn’t press. Part of being a good hunter is not startling the prey.

The point is, the outcrop is their spot, and that’s where Peter finds him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd think Stiles would be grateful someone has come to find him.  
> You'd think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys really liked this, huh?

 

Peter climbs up the wall - silent, stealthy. He peers over the edge, and sees Stiles crouching naked near the very edge of the outcrop, streaks and smudges of dirt and leaf litter covering him. He’s still wolfed out, hasn’t shifted back, and Peter doubts he even knows how. Peter listens and hears that Stiles’s heartbeat, although faster than normal, isn’t hammering like it does when Stiles is on the edge of panic, so he takes that as his cue to lift himself up and over the ledge, making sure to make a little noise so Stiles isn’t too startled by his approach.

And it’s really not the time or place, but Peter can’t help himself. He lets his gaze linger on Stiles’ naked body, admiring the lean muscle that’s on display. Stiles really is gorgeous, and one day Peter will tell him so, will spend countless hours tracing a hand over him, kissing him everywhere, finding out if that skin is as soft as it looks. But first, he needs to get Stiles home safely and help him through his shift.

Peter sees the way Stiles’s ears flatten against his head when he registers another presence. A low growl comes from deep in Stiles’s chest and he turns crouching with his claws held out defensively. Peter takes one step forward. Stiles growls again, and Peter thinks _, oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?_

“Stiles?” Peter keeps his voice low, quiet, aware of Stiles’s newly sensitive hearing. He takes another step forward, palm outstretched, non-threatening. “You need to come home with me now.”

Stiles stares at him, blinking, still snarling, and for a moment Peter wonders if Stiles truly has gone feral, but then he sees a flicker of recognition in Stiles’s eyes, and the way he lowers his claws just a fraction. “Stiles?” he tries again. Stiles has stopped snarling now, but he makes no move to come closer, instead circling Peter warily, taking slow, cautious steps. Peter mirrors his steps, hand still extended. Stiles finally seems to register that they’re walking in a giant circle, because he stops dead. Peter does the same.  They stand there, both motionless, both staring. Peter waits, and eventually Stiles takes a step.

Except it’s a step backwards, and that’s the opposite of what Peter wants. Stiles is far too close to the edge of the outcrop for his liking. Peter makes a split second decision. He advances rapidly and grabs Stiles round the waist, heedless of his frantically slashing claws, and pulls him close. It stings and burns where Stiles’s claws tear at his flesh, but Peter ignores the pain as he spins Stiles so his back is pressed against Peter’s chest and his arms are pinned against his sides.

Stiles _howls_ in outrage, but Peter holds him firmly in place and doesn’t let go. Stiles thrashes and struggles, but he’s no match for Peter’s newfound alpha strength, even when he starts kicking. Peter stands there like a rock, solid and unmoving, making soothing noises in Stiles’s ear. “It’s OK, Stiles. I know it’s a lot, the wolf is new. Breathe with me,” Peter murmurs, not knowing if Stiles even understands him right now.

Stiles continues to struggle and squirm. Ordinarily, Peter would find the way Stiles is writhing against him arousing, but right now, it’s like trying to wrangle an angry cat. Stiles shows no signs of settling, instead trying to stamp on Peter’s instep, and when that doesn’t work, ducking his head down and biting into Peter’s forearm where it’s wrapped around his chest.

“Oh, you little _bitch!_ ” Peter exclaims, which turns out to be a mistake, because Stiles, spurred on by his success, does it again.  Even as he gasps with the pain of fangs slicing into him, Peter is inordinately proud of his boy for fighting _so hard._ In any other situation, Peter would applaud it. Right now, though? He can’t let this continue. Stiles needs to submit to his Alpha, and they need to get off this damned ledge.

Peter swiftly spins Stiles around to face him, and lets his eyes flash red. Then he takes a deep breath, and _roars._ The sound is earsplittingly loud, and the effect is instantaneous. Stiles goes limp in his hold, whimpering pitifully, and buries his face in Peter’s chest, letting out a pathetic whine. Peter probably shouldn’t feel the thrill that he does at Stiles’s instant submission, but his power is new and heady, and he experiences a moment of dark satisfaction.  Stiles is trembling in his grasp though, even as Peter pulls him close and holds him tight. It’s partly to comfort him, but mainly because he doesn’t trust Stiles as far as he can throw him, sneaky little asshole that he is.  

He’d love to think it’s safe to embrace Stiles, soothe his shattered nerves, but Peter knows better. He’s seen too many creatures underestimate Stiles and pay the price, even when Stiles was still human. He can only imagine what he’s like with the added strength of a wolf on his side. So instead, he puts a hand under Stiles’s chin and drags it up, so they’re eye to eye. “Listen to your Alpha, Stiles. We’re going home now, and you _will not run from me.”_

Stiles whines, but he nods jerkily. “Get on my back,” Peter commands him. Stiles tilts his head, questioning. “I’m going to carry you down. I don’t trust you not to fall. Or run,” he adds, seeing a glint in Stiles’s eye.

Peter can see Stiles struggling against the command, so he puts a little more steel in his tone, knowing Stiles will be incapable of resisting. Gods, he’d forgotten how intoxicating wielding this kind of control could be. He’s missed it. “You’ll get on my back, and you’ll keep your claws to yourself, and you’ll let me take you home.”

Stiles lets out a muted snarl even as he nods again, the stubborn little shit. He leaps up onto Peter’s back, and when Peter reaches a hand back to hold him in place for the climb, he gets a handful of naked ass. The skin really is as butter soft and smooth as he thought it would be. Peter closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself enjoy it, before scaling efficiently down the wall. When they reach the base, he sets Stiles down and pulls a pair of folded boxers out of his back pocket. “Put these on.” Peter knows he probably should have offered them sooner, but he considers the extra few minutes of nudity fair payment for the bite marks and scratching he’s endured.

Stiles stares at the boxers, his thick wolf brow furrowed. He finally snatches them and attempts to pull them on, but his claws tangle in the fabric and he throws them to the ground with a hiss. Peter sighs heavily. He’s really going to have to get Stiles to shift back, sooner rather than later, and definitely before he sees his father. He picks up the underwear and holds it out, ready for Stiles to step into. “One foot, then the other,” he instructs firmly. Stiles steps into the garment gingerly, and Peter pulls the underwear up his legs. “You know, I’d much sooner be undressing you,” he mutters to himself. He doesn’t expect the amused huff he gets from Stiles, but he takes it as a good sign. “Coming back to me, sweetheart?”

Stiles licks his lips, and puts a hand out, touching Peter’s face. He still doesn’t speak, but the noise he makes is curious, enquiring. And he’s stopped trying to flay Peter with his claws, which is definite progress.

“Come on Stiles, time to get you home. We’ll call your father, tell him you’re fine. And McCall as well, I suppose.”  At the mention of Scott, Stiles stiffens, and his scent turns rancid with anxiety. Peter has a sudden deep loathing for Scott, and whatever he said that triggered Stiles in the first place. “Perhaps just your father, then,” he amends, and sure enough, Stiles visibly relaxes.

They make the two-hour trek through the preserve, Peter keeping one hand firmly on the back of Stiles’s neck the whole way in case he decides to bolt. He feels like a mother cat with a recalitrant kitten. Stiles constantly tries to pull away, but Peter just growls lowly and flashes red eyes every time, and Stiles will settle under his grip, at least until he tries it again. Stiles keeps shooting him dark looks, but Peter ignores them. Stiles has never liked being under any kind of authority, Alpha or otherwise, and Peter knows it must be grating on him to have to do as he’s told. Having him in Peter’s pack is certainly going to be interesting.

As soon as they have reception, Peter sends a quick text to the sheriff - _Stiles safe and with me, taking him to my place -_  because he knows the man’s worried, and staying in his good books is vital to Peter’s plans with Stiles.

He gets back a simple _Thank you._

They make it back to his car with Stiles only managing to break free once – he actually twists out of Peter’s grip and makes it about ten feet before Peter tackles him to the ground, putting all his weight into holding him there while Stiles grunts and hisses as he tries to escape. “I said _no_ ,” Peter tells him firmly.

Stiles snarls, but Peter just drags him up with one strong hand and frogmarches him to the vehicle, where he shoves him into the front seat and closes the door. Stiles kicks at the dash and pokes his tongue out when he discovers Peter’s activated the kiddie locks and he can’t get out. Peter pokes his own out in return. “If you weren’t being a brat, I wouldn’t have to lock you in, but I don’t trust you not to throw yourself out of a moving vehicle just to see what your healing powers can do.”

Stiles grumbles something under his breath while Peter secures Stiles’s seatbelt, the closest he’s come to speaking since Peter found him, and Peter takes heart. Stiles is still in there - Peter just has to coax him out. With that in mind, Peter starts talking as they drive. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you got bitten. If I’d known I would have come straight back. But as you know, the nature of my work means I’m often unreachable.”

  _Nature of his work_. It’s such a polite way of saying assassin, Peter thinks. This last job had taken longer than he’d thought – he’d only meant to be gone a matter of days, just long enough for Stiles to miss him. But the target had been particularly slippery, and Peter had spent far longer than planned away from his boy.

Stiles knows what he does of course, had figured it out about a month back. Peter had thought that with his father being the sheriff it might be a problem, but Stiles had looked at him curiously as he asked, “You only take out the bad guys, right?”

“Only the bad guys. I’m more of an…exterminator than anything. I take care of supernatural creatures that have gone off the rails, stop them drawing attention to our existence,” Peter had confirmed.

Stiles had nodded quietly. “So, you’re like a werewolf John Winchester, huh?”

“Please,” Peter had shot back, affronted. “If anything, I’m the attractive son.”

That had led to a whole debate over which Winchester brother was more fuckable. Stiles was all in favor of the smaller, more muscular brother, while Peter's tastes tended towards the long, lean lines of the other one. (They eventually agreed that really, the angel was the pick of the bunch, but they wouldn’t turn any of that family down.) Peter had enjoyed the conversation enormously, partially because Stiles didn’t even flinch at what he did for a living. It had just confirmed to Peter that Stiles was, in fact, perfect for him.

Peter sees that Stiles is watching him, waiting for him to keep talking. “I took care of the Alpha that bit you, took his power. So technically, you’re part of my pack now. I’m going to do what he should have done. I’m going to teach you to control your shift, because lord knows, you can’t walk around like this. The sideburns really don’t work on you, sweetheart.” Peter slips in the endearment, just to see how Stiles will react. He doesn’t seem to mind, instead letting out an amused snort. Peter continues to talk on inconsequential things as he drives, but Stiles remains silent. As they pull into his parking spot, Peter comments, “You know, I think this is the longest I’ve ever heard you go without speaking? It’s quite unsettling. When we get back to my place I’ll help you shift back, and you can get out all those words you must have building up. I expect it’ll be like a dam bursting, once you find your voice.”

Stiles makes an indignant noise, and Peter’s happy to see some clarity creep back into Stiles’s expression. He huffs out a breath, and finally, after several false starts, he speaks for the first time since Peter found him.  “Fas ‘r a bish” he grumbles round his extra teeth, which Peter, after a moment’s thought, translates as _fangs are a bitch_.

“They certainly are, sweetheart. Which is why I’m going to teach you to put yours away.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did Scott say, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Saturday, and I’m feeling generous. Have a bonus chapter.

 

They reach Peter‘s building. There’s nobody else around, so Peter deems it safe to lead Stiles up to his apartment in shifted form. Once there, he makes sure to lock the door. He still doesn’t trust Stiles not to bolt, and he doesn’t want anyone disturbing them for now.

He leads Stiles inside, one hand clasped firmly around the back of his neck, steering him through the apartment. Peter settles them on his couch with a warning. “This is Italian leather. You leave so much as a claw mark on it, and you’re buying a new one.” With that, Peter arranges Stiles so he’s nestled against his side. “Now I want you to close your eyes and listen to my heartbeat. Breathe deep, and we’ll see if we can’t get your wolf to behave, hmm?”

Stiles shakes his head, and lets out a low growl.  “Come on, Stiles. I know you can do this.” Stiles responds by doing his level best to headbutt Peter. Peter dodges him easily, and gives Stiles a tiny shake. He knows Stiles can understand him, so he decides to play dirty. “Really, Stiles? Are you telling me you can’t control your shift, something even that simpleton McCall could do? Disappointing.”

The filthy look Stiles shoots him could strip paint. Peter just raises his eyebrows. “And I thought you were the clever one. Well, be warned.  No beta in my pack is going out into the world unprepared. Until you get control, you’ll be staying here with me. So your options, as I see it, are to try and shift back, or become acquainted with my apartment. If you want to see your father any time soon, I’d suggest option A.”

It’s a low blow, but it has the desired effect. Stiles huffs and grumbles, but he stops struggling. Peter’s firm hold turns into a hug as Stiles lets himself relax. “That’s right sweetheart, deep breaths, and try and visualize the shift. Easy does it.” Peter’s talked more than his fair share of new wolves through their shift, back when he had a family, so he knows what he’s doing. Stiles manages to retract the claws on one hand, but that’s as far as he gets before letting out a forlorn whine. Peter smoothes a hand through Stiles’s hair. “You’ve done very well, darling. Let’s get you to lie down here with me, and try again.”

Stiles doesn’t protest, burying himself against Peter’s side. Peter can sense the pack bond, gradually growing stronger with the prolonged contact. It soothes something in him, and he can feel Stiles's muscles unclenching as well.  Peter continues to hold Stiles close, running a hand down his arm in slow, gentle strokes. They sit there until Stiles’s breathing evens out. Peter peers down at him and can’t help the amused snort that leaves him. Stiles has fallen asleep, still shifted.

Peter supposes it’s not a bad thing- Stiles is probably exhausted, and Peter knows from experience with the pups in his pack that sometimes when they get stuck in a shift, they’ll only come out of it when they sleep. Sure enough, Stiles’s features begin to flatten and change, and he morphs back into his human form.  Peter watches, more than a little relieved. If anyone was stubborn enough to keep from shifting just because he didn’t like being told what to do, it would be Stiles.

Peter thinks about calling the sheriff so he can give him a proper update, but when he goes to make a move Stiles clutches onto him and lets out a tiny whimper, so Peter stays put. It’s not like it’s a hardship, getting his scent all over Stiles and getting to run his hands over smooth, flawless flesh while Stiles sleeps. Peter wiggles around to get more comfortable, and closes his own eyes. He has no intention of sleeping, it’s more that he wants to take the opportunity to get his thoughts in order, and he finds himself unable to do so while he’s watching a dirt-smudged, near naked Stiles sprawled across him – it’s far too distracting.

If he can get this to play out right, he’ll end up with not only Stiles, but the rest of McCall’s pack. With some forethought, there’s no reason on earth that Peter can’t have everything he wants.

Stiles sleeps, and Peter schemes.

 

* * *

 

Eventually Peter navigates them so that Stiles is laying on top of him, and splays a hand across his sleeping back – possessive, protective. He buries his nose in Stiles’s hair, taking the opportunity to scent him shamelessly. Eyes closed, he allows himself to envision what this will be like when Stiles is really his, draped across his lap willingly. He imagines his boy, pressing up close against him and kissing him properly, nothing like the chaste peck that they shared at the outcrop.  He can’t help the tiny pleased noise that leaves him at the thought of it.

At the sound, Stiles’s eyes snap open. His entire body stiffens, and then he’s scrambling off Peter’s lap, snapping and snarling, fangs and claws out. Peter acts quickly, standing and wrapping his arms around Stiles, pinning his arms against his sides just like he did earlier. “Calm down, Stiles. Concentrate, see if you can shift back for me.”

Stiles takes several deep, shaky breaths, and Peter can feel his pounding heartbeat gradually slowing down. He starts stroking Stiles’s back, hands firm and sure. “ _comeoncomeon,”_ he whispers to himself. Stiles closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re no longer glowing gold. His brow’s retreated, and so have his fangs and claws, although he’s still sporting some extra facial hair. Peter decides to call it a win.

“Welcome back, Stiles. I knew you were smarter than McCall.”

Stiles shrugs. His voice is hoarse from disuse when he croaks out, “Yeah, well. It’s not like that’s hard.”

Peter can’t help but agree, but to hear something so dismissive about Scott coming from Stiles is surprising, to say the least. Scott must have really overstepped. For now, though, Peter leaves it. He has more important things to deal with. He looks Stiles up and down critically. “You need a shower. You’re a mess.”

Stiles scrunches up his face. He looks adorably confused as he takes in the state of himself for the first time, and Peter suspects he has little to no memory of the last day. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Peter shows Stiles to his bathroom and hands him a towel and some clothing that should fit him. Stiles nods his thanks and Peter goes to prepare him something to eat. He knows that shifting takes it out of a new wolf, and Stiles was apparently stuck like that for close to 24 hours. He’ll need all the calories he can get his hands on.

Peter heats some thick, creamy chicken and vegetable soup, makes a stack of sandwiches, and waits. And waits and waits and waits. When Stiles doesn’t appear, Peter goes looking. He can hear the water running when he listens at the bathroom door, so he knocks. “Stiles? Are you all right in there?”

He hears it, then, the sobbing. His heart clenches in sympathy - he’d been expecting some sort of meltdown, but it doesn't make it any easier to listen to. Peter breaks the lock effortlessly and walks into the bathroom.  Stiles is curled up on the floor of the shower, arms wrapped around himself, weeping as though his very heart is broken. Peter ignores the water drenching his clothes and kneels down next to Stiles, pulling him close. “Shhhhhh. I know, it’s a lot. But I’ll take care of you, and you’ll come to appreciate the bite for the gift that it is, I promise you.”

Stiles continues to cry as Peter holds him. Gradually though, the sobs taper off, and Stiles wiggles around so he can turn and face Peter. His eyes are bloodshot and red rimmed, and his face is swollen. “I know it’s a gift,” he manages to get out. “But I didn’t want it like this.”

Peter quirks a brow. “Like what, sweetheart?”

Stiles lowers his head. “I wanted – well, it doesn’t matter what I wanted. But it wasn’t some stranger in the woods.”

“I took care of him for you, sweetheart.” Peter flashes his eyes red.

Stiles gives a tiny nod. “Yeah, I figured.” Peter can hear that Stiles’s heartrate has slowed a little, and he’s not panicking any more, so he reaches up and turns off the water before standing them both up. He hands Stiles a towel, much as it pains him, because Stiles looks absolutely delicious like this, all damp and vulnerable, skin pink from the hot water. Stiles catches Peter looking and blushes to the tips of his ears as he hastily wraps the towel around his waist. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he grumbles.

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing I’d like better. But I don’t think we’re quite there yet, do you?” Peter teases.

“You’re such an asshole. And stop calling me sweetheart,” Stiles mutters, and there he is, Peter’s adorable little shit. Peter grins widely.

“I take it you’re feeling a little more like yourself? That is to say, rude and contrary?”

Stiles actually stops what he’s doing to consider that. “Maybe.” He finishes drying himself, back turned pointedly, not that Peter minds - the view from the rear is equally enchanting. “I can feel you watching me, Creeperwolf,” Stiles huffs, as he shimmies into the sweat pants Peter’s provided him with. They’re a little big, hanging low on his hips in a most enticing manner. The v neck he pulls on is also a little too big, exposing his collarbones beautifully. Peter feels a warm thrum of satisfaction at seeing his beta, his _mate,_ dressed in his clothes.

“I’m not watching you just for my own pleasure. I’m _supervising_. I want to make sure you aren’t going to climb out the window or something equally foolish. Now come with me, I’ve made you something to eat.”

Stiles perks up at that, and follows Peter to the kitchen, where he sets upon the soup and sandwiches like a starving man, which, Peter reflects, he probably is. Once he’s demolished the meal and is leaning back in the kitchen chair with a hand splayed over his belly, Peter decides it’s safe to ask.

“Are you ready to talk?” Stiles nods slowly. “Can you tell me what happened, Stiles? Why were you in the preserve alone the night you were bitten? You know never to go there alone, surely?” Peter keeps his tone low and soothing, no accusation, just curiosity.

Stiles sighs. “I wasn’t meant to be. We knew there was something out there. Scott was supposed to be meeting me. But he never showed. And I kept waiting five more minutes, and then five more, because you know Scott, he’s never been good with the whole ‘on time’ thing. And I guess I dozed waiting for him. The next thing I remember, there was something pinning me down, and at first, I thought it was Derek just fooling around, but then in saw it wasn’t him, and it – it _bit_ me, Peter.” Stiles pales at the memory, and it takes all Peter’s self-control not to rush to his side and fuss over him. He doesn’t though, just nods for Stiles to go on.

Stiles takes a deep breath and continues. “Then I heard a roar and Derek was there, he fought him off for me and took me home. I was bleeding all over the place, and he had to tell my dad what happened, and he took care of me over the last couple of days, and oh my god, I think I actually growled at my Dad, and he must be worried sick, and does he even know I'm okay? Shit.”

Stiles pauses for breath, and Peter lets out a low chuckle. “I knew once you got your words back there’d be no stopping you."

"Rude. Do you want to hear this or not?" Stiles shoots back, and Peter’s never been so happy to hear Stiles mouthing off.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Go on. What happened next? Where was the mighty _True Alpha_ during all of this? Where was _Scott?_ ” Peter can hear the disdain in his own voice, but he doesn’t try and hide it.

Stiles hangs his head. “He, um. He said I wasn’t part of his pack, so it wasn’t something he should have to deal with. Said Derek could take care of me. Scott had a _date,_ and he didn’t want to disappoint whoever it was. You know how he is.”

Peter feels rage surge through him at that, and from the way Stiles’s head snaps up to look at him, he knows the boy can smell it coming off him in waves, even though Stiles might not know exactly what it is he’s sensing. “Why do you smell like that?” Stiles demands, and even through his anger, Peter can’t help feeling a swell of pride. Of course Stiles can detect his emotions. He’s going to be _such_ a wonderful wolf.

“I’m angry, Stiles,” he says bluntly. “What kind of an alpha deserts a new wolf for a date, especially when that baby wolf is _his best friend_ , the one who saw him through his own transition?” He lets a little red creep into his eyes.

Stiles’s shoulders slump. “He didn’t abandon me, not exactly,” he protests weakly. “He told Derek to look after me. And Derek did his best, honestly. We were getting there, I think.  But then, two days in, Scott called, and he said, he said – “

Stiles has to stop for a moment and close his eyes, and his heart rate triples, hammering so loudly it sounds like it might beat right out of his chest.  Peter can see Stiles start to shake at the recollection of whatever McCall had said. Gods, Peter wishes he could rip that idiot boy’s head right off his neck, honestly. “What did he say?” he asks quietly, taking Stiles’s hand in his and tangling their fingers together. Stiles grips him back tight.

“He said - he said that I had to leave town. Said he wouldn’t have a packless wolf in his territory, that I was a threat.”

Peter snarls long and loud, the sound echoing through the room. “He said _what?_ That arrogant little shit! _How_ _dare_ _he?_ ”

“That wasn't the worst of it. When I said I didn’t want to leave my dad, Scott said staying would be selfish. Said I’d probably only end up hurting Dad when I lost control.” Stiles’s breath hitches as he fights back tears. “And it just hit me. Someone I thought was my best friend didn’t want me anymore. Scott rejected me. I'd have to go with this strange alpha, or go feral, and I sure as hell wasn't going with the new guy."

"Scott was wrong to try and exile you. Any decent Alpha would have offered you his protection and a place in the pack, not thrown you out." Peter's blood is boiling by now. He calms himself with thoughts of some one on one time with just him, Scott, and a stun gun set to high.

"Right? But what were my choices? I could see my future, and it sucked. I was going to spend my whole life alone, fighting not to hurt someone, not to become an omega. What if I did lose control? What if I did hurt my dad? What if _I killed him_? Maybe it would be better if I left, but without a pack…” Peter makes a sympathetic noise, and fights the urge to go and rip McCall’s throat out, there and then. ”I couldn't handle it. It was all too much, and I panicked,  let the wolf have free rein. I don’t remember much after that - the preserve, the outcrop. The next clear memory I have is you talking to me in the car.” Stiles rubs at damp eyes with the back of his knuckles, and it makes him look about six.

Peter’s heart melts, and some of his anger at Scott drains away in the face of Stiles’s obvious need for comfort. He places a hand under Stiles’s chin and tilts it up. “Two things, sweetheart. One, McCall is an ignorant, insensitive asswipe, and I don’t know why you still tolerate him. Two, you’re not, and will never be, alone. When I killed the wolf that bit you and took his power, you became part of my pack. ”

Stiles's face does something complicated at that.”We're a pack of _two_. Does that even count?" He makes a dismissive sound.

Peter smiles, all sharp fangs and satisfaction. “It's a start.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Peter continues to soothe Stiles, reassuring him that even with just two of them he’s safe from becoming omega, and that with time and practice, he’ll be a breathtaking werewolf. Stiles is still adjusting to his senses being in overdrive, and accidentally begins his shift twice – once when a car backfires, and once when Peter’s phone rings. Both times, with some encouragement from Peter, he manages to rein it in after only a few minutes. Peter’s impressed, and tells him so, calling him ‘my little cleverwolf.’ Stiles blushes under the praise, and smiles at the name.

The missed phone call is from the Sheriff. Peter calls him back, and hands the phone to Stiles once he’s dialed. When John answers, Stiles gets out a breathless “Hey, Pops.”

Peter can hear both sides of the conversation perfectly well, and he doesn’t budge from where he’s sitting, even when Stiles makes a shooing gesture. He wants to be nearby in case something sets Stiles off again.

“Thank god! You okay, kiddo?”

“Well, I mean, I’m a werewolf, so there’s that, but yeah. I’m better.”

“Don’t you ever take off like that again, you hear? You frightened the living daylights out of me! It’s no good feeding me rabbit food for my health if you’re gonna give me a heart attack by scaring me half to death.” John doesn’t sound angry, Peter notes, more a mix of exasperated and relieved that Stiles is okay. Peter gets it – Stiles can have that effect.

“Sorry, Pops. Scott said some things, and I freaked out. But Peter came and found me, helped me. I’m at his place.”

“I know Peter came and got you, son. I sent him to find you. When are you coming home?”

At that, Peter deftly slides the phone out of Stiles’s grip. ”I think it best if Stiles stays with me for a few days, Sheriff. He’s getting better, but as I want him here till he learns better control of his wolf.” Stiles looks like he’s about to argue, and Peter understands why, so he quirks an eyebrow and holds up a hand to still Stiles’s protests as he continues, “Of course, he’s eager to see you, so I’ll drive him over there shortly. But afterwards, he’ll come back here with me until I’m satisfied that he’s fit to be out in public. Unless you’d like me to move into your place for a week or so?” Out of the corner of his eye, Peter catches the thumbs up Stiles gives him at the news he’s going to see his dad.

John sighs. “I guess he’s best with you. Just – what the hell did Scott say to set him off in the first place?”

“Why don’t you talk to him, let him tell you himself?” As far as Peter’s concerned, it’s better coming from Stiles – it will set the sheriff firmly against Scott. Whereas Peter understands only too well that if he tells it, there’ll always be that tiny glimmer of doubt over what _really_ happened, simply because Peter wasn’t there.  

Peter tosses the phone to Stiles, who manages to catch it midair, grinning at his newfound coordination. And then Peter does give them some privacy, heading downstairs as he hears Stiles telling his dad, “Yeah, Scott wanted to run me out of town,” and John cursing in outrage.

When Stiles comes downstairs twenty minutes later, he looks like he’s been crying again, but Peter doesn’t mention it, instead asking, “Ready?’ as he dangles his car keys. He knows how important John is to Stiles, and it’s in Peter’s best interests to maintain an amicable relationship. But quite apart from that, he knows the man won’t truly believe Stiles is okay till he lays eyes on him – he’s had too many years as a cop to really trust anyone.

Sure enough, as soon as they pull up John’s spilling out the front door, barely waiting for Stiles to step out of the car before he’s on him, running his hands up and down his arms, scanning him for any sign of injury before hugging him tight. Stiles hugs him right back, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Pops. I didn’t mean to run. But the wolf couldn’t stay here, and I couldn’t control it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats, as John holds him close and strokes his hair.

“Enough, kiddo,” he says, gruffly. “You’ve always been impulsive, why would that change just because you’re a little hairier?” Stiles snorts into his dad’s shoulder, and John lets out a shaky laugh that Peter can tell is mostly relief. “Tell you what though, McCall’s got a damn nerve.” Peter notes the absence of Scott’s first name, and hums in agreement. “That kid better be ready to get more traffic tickets than a bull can shit in a week, leaving you to get hurt and then treating you like that,” John grumbles. Peter suddenly sees where Stiles gets his fiercely loyal streak from.

Interestingly, Stiles, who’s normally the first to leap to Scott’s defense, just says, “Start with his tires – they’re both balder than Deaton.”

“That so? Good to know, son.” Peter thinks to himself that he’d hate to be the poor soul who’s on the receiving end of the wrath of the Stilinski men, and silently vows to make sure it isn’t ever him. When they pull apart, John turns to Peter and says, “Thank you.” Then he pulls Peter into a hug of his own, catching him off guard, and Peter flails a little as he finds himself pressed close against a warm, strong body. Stiles looks absolutely delighted at his discomfort, grinning at Peter over his dad’s shoulder. Peter pokes his tongue out like the adult he is.

When John lets him go, he says, “You’re an Alpha now, Peter? Does that mean I’m about to get saddled with another mysterious animal attack?”

“Not at all,” Peter replies smoothly. “Although I _do_ hear there was a drug deal gone wrong out at the motel six on the edge of town. My sources tell me it got messy.”

“Dammit. I _hate_ messy.” John scrunches up his nose in displeasure, and Peter notes that the expression’s _pure_ Stiles.

They go inside and stay for an hour, because Stiles needs to be with his father right now, and John needs to see his son. Stiles asks, shyly, “Can I…can I sniff you? It’s weird, but I just need - “  

His father rolls his eyes, and tells him “Kiddo, that’s not even the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me. Go ahead.” He opens his arms and Stiles almost dives onto the couch in his haste to be close, and spends the next half hour pressed against his dad. Peter knows he’s taking comfort from the closeness with his father, the familiar scent of family helping drown out the overstimulation of his senses.  

Soon though, Stiles starts letting out jaw-creaking yawns, and his eyes are fluttering shut. “Time for baby wolves to nap, I think,” Peter says in a low tone.

“Not a baby,” Stiles protests, but he’s too tired to give more than a token protest.

John gives Stiles a squeeze and helps him stand. “Go get some sleep, kid. I’ll call you every day, okay?” Stiles nods dopily. Peter lets Stiles lean on him as they walk out, and practically pours him into the car. By the time they’ve driven as far as the corner, Stiles is out like a light.

 

* * *

 

 

When they get back to his place, Peter doesn’t hesitate to tuck Stiles into his own bed, humming with satisfaction at the sight. Stiles is _mainly_ in Peter’s bed so Peter can keep an eye on him, ensure he won’t panic and take off again when he wakes. That, and he looks so perfectly at home there. If it means Peter’s bedsheets will smell like him, well, that’s just a bonus. He regretfully leaves Stiles’s sweatpants on - he doesn’t want to break the fragile trust Stiles is developing with his Alpha.

He showers and slips into bed behind Stiles, wearing only boxers, and wraps an arm lightly around him. His wolf rumbles in satisfaction, and Peter lets himself enjoy the experience, Stiles’s skin soft beneath under his fingertips.

Stiles sleeps for a solid ten hours, and Peter stays wrapped around him for the while time. When Stiles wakes, his whole body stiffens, just for a moment, and then he relaxes. Peter’s been awake for a while, and has been shamelessly reveling in Stiles’s presence in his bed and scenting Stiles as he slept. So he catches the minute movements, and murmurs, “You with me, sweetheart?”

Stiles lets out a sound of agreement. Peter doesn’t remove the arm that’s wrapped around Stiles, and interestingly, Stiles makes no effort to get out of his grip. He lays there silently for a full minute, before letting out a tiny sigh and snuggling back against Peter. It’s unexpected, but definitely a welcome development. Peter knows Stiles must be able to feel the erection pressing against him, and he waits to see what his boy will say. Finally, Stiles speaks, voice hoarse and sleep-cracked. “I thought you’d at least buy me dinner before I ended up in your bed.”

Peter huffs out a soft laugh. “I don’t see you trying to get away, sweetheart.”

Stiles rolls over and stretches, and its gorgeous torture, seeing the long lines of his body. “Nope. Too comfy.”

Peter props himself up on one elbow, amused at Stiles’s lack of concern. “Aren’t you worried I took advantage of you in your vulnerable state? I _am_ the Creeperwolf, remember.”

Stiles shakes his head. “That’s not your style. Your ego would demand that you seduce me properly, because it wouldn’t occur to you that you might not succeed.” And, well. He’s not wrong. “Also,” Stiles continues with a smirk, “I’m still dressed, and I can’t smell you all over me. I mean I can, but not like that. So, I’m guessing there were no midnight sexytimes.”

Peter’s impressed, and he tells Stiles so. “Do you realize that within minutes of waking, you’ve used your new senses to figure out whether you were at risk, and drawn the right conclusion from the barest amounts of evidence? You’re a natural, Stiles. You were born for this.”

Stiles preens under the praise. “Yeah, well. I’ve thought about it, what I could do if I was a wolf.”

When he says that it tugs at something in Peter’s memory. “Stiles, what did you mean yesterday, when you said you wanted the bite, but not like this?”

Stiles scent immediately sours. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” he mutters, and pulls away, sitting up.

Peter sits up as well so they’re facing each other. “You’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. _Tell me._ ” He flashes his eyes red, knowing it’s a dirty trick and not caring.

 “I wanted…”  He sighs, and Peter waits patiently. “I just, there were a couple of ways I imagined it. And I always kind of thought that Scott would, you know, offer me the bite. That he’d want me in his pack, best bros and all. But it never even occurred to him.” Stiles slumps at the admission, staring at his hands.

Peter’s quick to place a hand under Stiles’s chin and lift it. “I thought we’d established that McCall’s an idiot?” he growls out softly.

Stiles goes quiet, biting his lip. “Scott's a good guy, he just doesn’t think,” he says, but his heartbeat skips on the lie.

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. Stiles needs to learn when to let go. “Please, sweetheart. You don’t even believe it yourself. Scott’s selfish, and he uses you.” It’s harsh, but it needs to be said. Stiles won’t retain a single  shred of loyalty to Scott, not if Peter can help it.

Stiles bites his lip again. “You’re right. But he used to be my best friend. I guess I thought he still was.”

“You really think someone who left you alone in the preserve when he knew there was a threat, and then wasn’t there for you afterwards, is your friend?” Peter challenges.

Stiles lets out a heavy sigh, and Peter knows it must sting, the realization that Scott’s not all he’s made himself out to be. But then Stiles’s features shift from a look of regret to something hard and unforgiving, and it’s remarkably similar to the expression Peter saw John wearing earlier. “No. Not anymore. Scott McCall can go fuck himself. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.”

Peter’s not thrilled with Stiles’s choice of phrasing, but he lets it go, choosing to settle a comforting hand on the back of Stiles’s neck. Stiles lets his head drop under the touch and makes a contented sound.

“You said Scott giving you the bite was one way. What was the other?” Peter asks, partly because he wants to steer the conversation away from the emotions stirred up by discussing McAwful, but also because he’s genuinely curious.

“Well, I always kinda regretted turning you down. Not at the time,” he hastens to add. “I mean you were crazy, and a killer, and you would have been a terrible alpha and I would have been dead inside a week. But later on, when you were…better? I always thought you’d be good at it, you know?”

“Even though I’m the shady, not to be trusted, black sheep of the Hale Pack?” Peter’s only half joking.

Stiles lifts his head and Peter finds himself on the receiving end of an assessing stare. “You’re not the black sheep, not really. Maybe…pale grey with charcoal highlights? And yeah. Even then.”

Peter takes his hand off the back of Stiles’s neck, and places a hand gently on each shoulder, gentle, possessive. “Well however it happened, you’re in my pack now. No regrets that you aren’t aligned with McCall?”

Stiles shrugs. “Nope. At least I know you want me.” He pauses for a minute. Peter takes the opportunity to nuzzle at Stiles’s collarbones and scent him. Surprisingly, when Peter pulls away Stiles leans in and does the same thing back, and doesn’t _that_ make Peter’s wolf perk right up? “I’ve been thinking about your offer,” Stiles adds casually, rubbing his cheek against Peter’s stubble. Peter doesn’t even think Stiles is aware he’s doing it.

“Oh?” Peter doesn’t want to press, but he can’t help but ask. “And?”

Stiles’s eyes sparkle with mischief when he says, “I’m still considering it. I mean you’re exactly my type, I’d be mad to say no. I just got distracted by, well.” He makes a gesture that Peter supposes is meant to look like claws.

Peter takes a moment to digest what Stiles is telling him. Stiles isn’t upset that he’s a werewolf, and Peter thanks all the deities for that. He’d wanted Peter as his Alpha, even when it wasn’t possible. And now, he’s just admitted he might like to take things further. Peter’s libido sits up and takes notice, his dick twitching at even the possibility of Stiles being his.

“Good to know you’re considering it,” he says hoarsely, throwing back the blankets and getting out of bed, wanting to put some distance between them before his wolf won’t take no for an answer. It takes all his willpower to stamp down ruthlessly on his sudden, overwhelming desire to roll them over and claim Stiles as his then and there, but he manages it, barely. As he’s walking into the bathroom he hears Stiles call out, “Hey, what were you thinking about just now? Because it made you smell really good. Peter? Are you coming back to bed? _Peter?_ ”

Peter chooses not to answer, opting instead to grit his teeth and endure a cold shower, because if he goes back to bed now, they won’t be leaving it until Stiles has been thoroughly claimed and debauched, and Peter won’t do that, not until Stiles knows they’re mates.

It’s the one thing he can’t manipulate or control – Stiles’ reaction to the news that mates exist, and that he’s Peter’s. Peter just has to figure out how to slip that little gem into the conversation without freaking Stiles out. It’s a big ask, but Peter’s sure he can manage it. Well, almost sure.

At least ninety percent.

Maybe seventy.

He’s working on it, okay?

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds out.

 

Peter did the decent thing, honestly. He offered Stiles the spare room.  Stiles, though, fidgeted and admitted he didn’t trust himself yet, and asked if he could stay in Peter’s bed. Peter was already going to say yes, even before Stiles added, “Please? Derek’s been holding me while I sleep, and I’m used to werewolf cuddles now.” At the thought of his nephew laying his paws all over Stiles, Peter had growled lowly, and shuffled over to make room in the bed. They’d slept peacefully all through the night, Peter’s arm slung loosely over Stiles. Peter hadn’t mentioned Stiles’s morning wood, just as Stiles hadn’t mentioned Peter’s.

For now, Stiles is practicing his shift. It’s not going well.  “This shit is harder than it looks.”  Stiles looks down glumly at his hands, which have been clawed now for a good hour. Sometimes he can shift easily, other times, he gets well and truly stuck – this has been one of his worst attempts so far.

“You’ll learn,” Peter says soothingly. “There’s not a wolf alive who can’t shift.”

Stiles shoots him an unimpressed look. “You realize that makes it sound like if I don’t get this, I get taken out, right?”

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Stiles, there’s a secret werewolf council that travels the world assassinating wolves who can’t hold a shift. It’s where I get most of my business.”

“Asshole.” Stiles shoves at Peter halfheartedly with his claws still out.

Peter grabs his wrist and holds it. “Behave.” He flashes his eyes and lets Stiles go, and Stiles drops his clawed hand back into his lap.  “Now, focus. Find your anchor and concentrate.” Stiles closes his eyes, still grumbling to himself. Peter places a hand on the back of Stiles’s neck to ground him, and he can hear Stiles’s heart rate settle into a steady rhythm, can tell he’s concentrating with all his might.  Stiles breathes deeply, and after long minutes his claws slowly, slowly, start to retract. “That’s it sweetheart, you’re getting it,” Peter says quietly. Stiles opens his eyes and looks at his hands, just in time to see his fingertips return to normal. He grins delightedly.

“Yesss!” He punches the sky in victory.  After that, it gets easier. With every attempt, Stiles manages to control his shift a little better, and Peter praises him effusively.  Stiles’s earlier uncertainty turns to elation as his shift gets smoother and smoother, until finally, by the time they’re both yawning and stretching, he can flick his claws in and out at will.

“Really excellent work, Stiles. It looks like the secret werewolf council won’t have to have you put down after all,” Peter tells him, a twinkle in his eye, and it's worth the punch to the arm Stiles gives him.

 

* * *

 

 

They continue in that vein for the next couple of days – Stiles practicing his shift, sleeping for hours at a time, (because apparently adjusting to a new body is exhausting, who would have thought?) and calling his dad daily to reassure him that he’s fine, that he’s improving. Peter spends some of his time feeding and caring for Stiles, encouraging and praising him when he does well, and some of it teasing and goading him, challenging him to _try, dammit,_ when Stiles gets stuck in his shift and sulks, or pitches a fit and threatens to give up on the whole thing and just go live in a cabin in the woods. 

Derek calls daily, just to check that Stiles is okay.

Scott doesn’t.

The pair of them pass out each night wrapped around each other in Peter’s bed. Peter spends more time with his face buried in the crook of Stiles's neck than he'd care to admit, marinating in the scent of his mate, but Stiles is asleep for most of it, so Peter figures he'll never know. It’s nothing sexual as far as Stiles is concerned – he's just taking comfort in the knowledge that there’s someone there to keep him grounded, and soaking up Peter’s Alpha presence. 

Peter wishes it was sexual - it’s driving him mad with want. But Stiles hasn’t given him an answer yet, and Peter won’t push, won’t move forwards until Stiles knows what it is he’s agreeing to – when Peter claims Stiles, he wants it to be by mutual agreement. Knowing he’s playing the long game doesn’t help with his achingly hard erections every morning though, or the instinct to bury his teeth in the side of Stiles’s neck in a mating bite.

Peter makes a practice of getting out of bed as soon as he wakes and taking care of himself in the shower, just to get through the day. It’s desperately unsatisfying, jerking himself off with the scent of Stiles still fresh in his nostrils, while his wolf whines and sulks that he’s not claiming his mate who’s _right next door_ , but he makes do. Stiles isn’t subtle, sniffing the air and giving Peter a questioning look when he emerges from the bathroom, whining about _what is it that smells so good?_ Peter doesn’t give him an answer, because as much as it pains him, it can wait. A good Alpha always makes sure new betas are able to handle their shift, and that’s Peter’s priority right now, even if he wishes it were otherwise.

Stiles isn’t stupid though, and he always was far too clever. On the fourth day when Peter emerges from the bathroom he’s sitting up in bed, blankets puddled round his waist, smirking and looking far too pleased with himself. “I figured out the smell. You’re horny on main for me.”

Perceptive little shit.

“Of course I am,” Peter huffs. “But you haven’t agreed to anything, and I won’t press. No matter how tempting you look wrapped in my bedding,” he adds, licking his lips just to see Stiles blush. “When you decide if this is something you want, we’ll talk. Not before.”

Peter knows there are Alphas out there who routinely take advantage of their betas, claim it as their right, but that’s never been his style. Stiles was right about that – Peter much prefers the thrill of a well-executed seduction.

Stiles hums, and his gaze rakes over Peter, who’s naked except for the towel around his waist. Stiles’s eyes flash gold without warning, and Peter can sense the arousal coming off Stiles in waves.  He stands and walks over to Peter, and lays a hand hesitantly on his shoulder. His palm is warm and broad against Peter’s damp skin, and sends a frisson of want through Peter’s body. “It might be yes.”

Peter has to close his eyes and count to ten. The things this sweet boy does to him, honestly. It pains him physically to say, “Yes to what, exactly? Because if it’s yes to a quick fuck because you’re an overexcited baby wolf, I’ll have to decline.”

Stiles’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’re turning me down?”

“I am if it’s just a hookup, yes.” Peter reminds himself that he’s doing the smart thing here, but it doesn’t stop his wolf brain from whining in dismay. At Stiles’s confused look, Peter takes a deep breath. It’s time to put his cards on the table. “When I say we could be good together, I’m thinking of something long term.”

The silence draws out as Peter waits for a response. If Stiles doesn’t turn him down flat, now’s the perfect time to bring up the fact that they’re meant to be together as mates. Peter hopes he can pull it off without sounding like some sort of cartoon villain who’s out to steal the heroine’s virtue. He briefly pictures himself in a top hat and swirling cape, looming over a quivering Stiles and declaring _“You’re meant to be mine, Stiles, mine forever!”_ He wishes his reputation didn’t fit that stereotype quite so well, just this once.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried.

Stiles gives Peter a considering look,  and takes a step closer. “Are you talking _Stiles, maybe we could try dating?_ Or are you talking more, _Stiles, I think you’re my mate, but I’ve been too chickenshit to tell you?”_ he asks, and his mouth quirks up in an amused smile.

All the air leaves Peter’s body in a rush of breath. “What?” His voice definitely doesn’t come out in a high-pitched squeak.

“Mates,” Stiles repeats patiently, still grinning. “Lifelong, mystical, meant -to-be-together werewolf partners. I heard Derek mention it one day, and you know me and getting sucked into research spirals.  I figured it out. You’re not subtle, Peter. Some of the scenting and stuff’s because you’re my Alpha, but not all of it. You think I’m your mate, don’t you?”

Stiles continues to grin, and Peter’s forced to admit that he’s done the very thing he scorns other people for – he’s wildly underestimated his mate. His irritation at himself is overridden by the relief that rushes through him when he notes that Stiles isn’t horrified by the concept. In fact, he seems more entertained than anything.

He takes a moment to compose himself _.  This_ , right here, is why Stiles is perfect for him. He’s devastatingly clever, and he plays his cards close to his chest, just like Peter does. Peter cups Stiles’s jaw softly in his hand. “Suppose I said yes, and asked if that’s something you want. What would your answer be?”

Stiles leans forwards and places a soft kiss on Peter’s cheek before drawing back with a self-satisfied grin.  “Like I said, I think it’s a yes.”

Peter wants to roar with triumph. He wants to hoist Stiles over his shoulder and throw him onto the bed and fuck him stupid. He wants to hold him against the wall and pound into him, wants to bite his neck and leave the mark that will tell all other wolves that Stiles is _taken, claimed, his._

He doesn’t, though. Instead he raises an eyebrow. “Do you realize what you’re saying, what you’re agreeing to? Mating’s a lifelong commitment, and we haven’t even kissed properly. And you’ve only been a werewolf a matter of days.”

“A week. It’s my wolfy-versary. Maybe we could celebrate?”

Stiles leans in and kisses him again, properly this time, soft and sweet, but thrumming with an undercurrent of want. Peter’s helpless to resist, doesn’t even want to try. He gets lost in those plush lips, in the taste and scent of Stiles. He can’t help the moan that escapes him when they part.

Stiles nuzzles at his throat for a moment before speaking. “Fuck, you smell good.” He pauses to inhale once more. “I know it’s a serious commitment. I’ve done my research, and I talked to Derek, he told me how it works.” Peter’s briefly annoyed at his nephew for daring to discuss this without telling him, but then Stiles is speaking again. “That’s why I’m not rushing into this. I’m in no state to make life altering decisions right now.” He holds up a hand, and Peter sees that his claws have emerged unbidden.

“Very wise of you, sweetheart,” he agrees. “I don’t want you to feel pushed into this.” He feels compelled to add, "You do know that the bond's not an imperative. It means we're incredibly well matched, yes, but there's no biological compulsion to accept."  Peter’s wolf brain whimpers and lets Peter know he’s a fool. Peter tells his wolf brain firmly to _shut up,_ it’s not helping.

“Oh, I know. I looked it up. But I think you might be it for me. Even before all this, I wanted you. So maybe we can…?” Stiles is looking at him hungrily, licking his lips, and Peter’s self-control can only take so much. He wraps a hand around the back of Stiles’s head and drags him in for another kiss, and this isn’t soft and sweet, this is hard and demanding and perfect and wonderful. Stiles moans against him as Peter plunders that delightful mouth with his tongue, and kisses Peter back with unexpected ferocity. 

Peter finds himself stumbling backwards, then pressed against the bedroom wall. “Taste…taste so good,” Stiles mumbles, and then he’s buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck and he’s scenting him aggressively, his claw tipped hands wrapping around Peter’s wrists and pinning them to the wall.

Peter doesn’t fight it, just lets Stiles have his way. He knows he can’t let this go too far, but he doesn’t have it in him right now to stop. Stiles is mouthing at his throat, kissing along his collar bones, and then there are sharp teeth tugging at his nipple, sending a ripple of sensation through his body. Peter feels himself starting to harden under his towel, and knows he needs to call things to a halt. There’s a voice in his head screeching at him to _STOP STOP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP,_ and he knows he has to, before he can’t. His control’s good, but there’s only so much a wolf can be expected to bear.

Stiles is moaning and muttering as he licks and tastes his way across Peter’s body, but when he goes to undo Peter’s towel, Peter breaks free from his grip and twists so that they’re turned around, and Stiles is the one being held against the wall. Peter wants to weep with frustration when he sees the glazed look in Stiles’s eyes and the kiss swollen lips. _“Stiles.”_ He means for it to come out as commanding, authoritative, but instead it comes out sounding broken and pleading.

Stiles blinks at him, then gives him a filthy grin. “Yes, _Alpha?_ ” he purrs seductively, and it goes straight to Peter’s cock. Dammit. This boy may actually be the death of him.

“Stiles,” he tries again, but he sounds just as needy as before. “I can’t. We can’t. We should wait.” His argument sounds weak even to his own ears.

Stiles leans forward as far as he’s able and licks a long, wet stripe up Peter’s throat. “Should we, though?”

Peter closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and reminds himself that he can’t have this, not yet. He’s been waiting and planning and lusting after Stiles for six years – he’s not going to lose sight of his goal now. He wants Stiles, yes, but only if he gets to keep him.

With a muttered curse, he shoves himself away from Stiles and stalks back into the bathroom. He turns the shower on and steps under the blast of freezing cold water, letting out a yelp as the icy needles hit his skin. It does dampen his arousal enough for him to think, though. _This is just temporary_ , he reminds himself. _Short term pain, long term gain,_ he thinks. It doesn’t make it any more pleasant, but it steels his resolve a little, and he plans his next move.

He turns the water off and turns to find Stiles watching him, an amused smirk on his face. “Did you really just go and have a cold shower?” His eyes travel slowly up and down Peter’s body - it’s the first time Stiles has seen him naked, Peter realizes. For the briefest moment, he wishes the water hadn’t been _quite_ so cold.

Peter grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist, leaving rivulets of water running down his neck and beading on his chest  – he knows how he looks, and he’s not above using it to his advantage. “It was that, or throw you over my shoulder, carry you to bed, and fuck you senseless,” he replies.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Stiles says, his smirk turning into something more predatory.

Peter shakes his head. “Mates are… it’s something special. It can’t be casual. If I take you to bed and then you don’t agree to be my mate, I think it might actually break me.” It’s more honest than he intended, but he can’t be anything but truthful, not about this.

The smirk drops from Stiles’s face. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely. Until you decide, nothing happens, as much as I want you.” _Short term pain, long term gain,_ Peter recites to himself. It doesn’t help.

He brushes past Stiles and goes to get dressed. He can feel Stiles watching him as he dries off and pulls some clothing out of the drawer. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, and hears Stiles huff out a laugh. Once he’s dressed, he feels a little less exposed, more in control. He turns to face Stiles and puts his hands on his hips. This next part’s going to be difficult, but it’s necessary. Stiles needs time to think, and Peter intends to give it to him. “It’s time you went home.”

“What? Why?” Stiles looks hurt, confused.

Peter makes sure his tone is gentle. “Because this was only ever temporary. You have your shift more or less under control, and you need to go home and learn to live your life as a wolf.”   _And maybe if I send you away, you’ll miss me_ , he doesn’t say.  

Stiles’s scent turns sharp with sudden anxiety. “But what if I’m not ready? What if I can’t – what if I hurt my dad?” It bursts out of him, his greatest fear.

Peter’s expression softens. “You’re ready, sweetheart. But if you need me at any time, or feel like your control’s slipping, call and I’ll be there. I won’t leave town any time soon, so I’ll be close.”

“So what, just howl and you’ll come running?”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Or you could text, like a normal person.”

Stiles frowns. “You’re such a smartass.”

“It’s part of my charm.” Peter thinks for a moment, and then grabs his keys from the dresser. He detaches one and hands it over. “Here. You can come over at any time you need to.” He sees Stiles relax as he accepts the key. “I don’t really think you’ll harm your father, but if it makes you feel better, get him to call Chris Argent and get some mountain ash to put across his bedroom door.”

Stiles’ face lights up. “Yeah. That’d work.”

“So. Home?” Peter dangles his car keys.

Stiles nods. “Home.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's planning pays off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be typos. It's a problem for Future Me.

 

Peter drops Stiles off, and pretends he doesn’t miss him like air.

He goes home and buries his face in the pillow Stiles has been using, letting out a muffled groan. It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. He wanders listlessly around the apartment, which seems far too empty now. He pulls his phone out five times in the space of half an hour, only to put it away again.  

He throws himself back onto the bed they shared, and fumbling to get his zipper down, jerks himself off surrounded by the scent of his mate. He comes in under a minute, mixing his own scent in with that of Stiles. Afterwards, hand still sticky and breath still quick, he tells himself sternly that this has to stop, that he needs to stop acting like a lovesick schoolboy and pull himself together. He get up, showers, and washes away the evidence of his desperation.

He can’t bring himself to change the bedding, though.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Peter busies himself making space in his closet and drawers, just in case there’s a sudden burning need to store multiple pairs of chucks and hang some plaid shirts. He stocks up the pantry with snacks that he knows Stiles is partial to. He goes out and buys new towels and linen, enough for another person should he unexpectedly gain a roommate, and tells himself it’s just forward planning, that’s all.

He’s not nesting.

He’s not.

He and Stiles talk, of course. Stiles still needs reassurance from his Alpha, and calls or texts Peter several times a day with a question or a tale of some tiny victory he’s had in mastering his new form, and Peter always answers the calls.  But he never initiates contact, and he doesn’t ask Stiles to come over.  It’s terrible, and he hates it, but it’s a necessary evil.

He does take a measure of petty satisfaction when he sees McCall pulled over on the side of the road, arguing the point with deputy Parrish, who's writing him a ticket.

 When Stiles texts him that afternoon, Peter drops the information casually into the conversation, and is delighted when Stiles reports back that his Dad’s put the word out at the station, and that so far this week, Scott’s gotten two defect notices, four parking tickets, and a fine for jaywalking. Peter didn’t even know that was still an offense, and texts Stiles something to that effect.

He gets back _It is if you piss off the Sheriff’s kid._  

Peter snickers meanly. Gods, he misses his boy. But he stays away, gives Stiles time to find his feet, and waits.

It’s torture.

On the fourth day, he’s halfway through cleaning out the refrigerator, just for something to do, when there’s a knock at the door. He perks up, hoping it’s Stiles, but as he approaches the door, he can hear the familiar pattern of Derek’s heartbeat. He opens the door to see his nephew, wearing a more resolute scowl than usual. “Can I come in?”

Peter steps aside wordlessly, and Derek walks past him and into the apartment. He turns and faces Peter, pauses only for a moment, then kneels, tilting his head to one side in a submissive gesture. “ _I request permission to place myself under the mantle of the Hale Pack. I submit myself to your headship, and ask that you accept me as your beta.”_ The formal language sounds stilted, and Peter raises a brow. He wasn’t expecting to do this quite yet, but if Derek’s offering, it means his plans will flow so much more smoothly. A willing addition to a pack is always a drawcard for betas who might be considering their options.

“ _Do you revoke all previous ties to your former Alpha, and pledge your loyalty to me?”_ He steps close, places a hand on the side of Derek’s throat. The rituals are old, something born wolves learn at their mother’s knee, and it makes Peter’s breath catch to hear them used again, for _him_.

_“I do, Alpha.”_

Peter leans in then, lets his fangs drop, and bites, hard enough to draw blood. Derek makes a pained noise, but he doesn’t pull away.  It’s symbolic, the letting of blood, the submission to the new Alpha, but it also works to dissolve the old pack bond and forge a new one. Peter feels it instantly, a tugging in his chest, an awareness in the back of his mind, steady and warm and familiar. _Derek._   He can tell just by the expression on his face that Derek’s experiencing the same thing. The regard each other silently, and then Peter draws Derek to his feet, opens his arms. Derek folds into them, breathing a quiet “ _Thank you,”_ in his ear.

“You’re welcome, nephew.” They stay like that, soaking up the new bond and each other’s presence, until Peter’s phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out and answers, vaguely noting that Derek’s actually smiling for a change. It’s a good look on him.

“What did you do?” Stiles demands, and Peter knows that Stiles is referring to the new pack bond settling in place.

“I took another pack member. That’s the bond you’re feeling right now.”

“Jesus, you bit someone?” Stiles sounds annoyed at that, and Peter realizes he could have worded that better, but he’s still a little giddy from the rush of power at expanding his pack.

“Derek asked to join our pack. I gave him the ceremonial bite to transfer the bond from Scott to me.”

There’s a silence at the other end of the line. Finally, Stiles says, “Oh, man. Scott’s gonna be _so pissed_.” And then he starts laughing. Peter joins him, because he can, because he has a pack of three, and everything’s going exactly the way it should. Even Derek’s grinning. 

“Sweetheart, can I call you back? Derek and I need to talk.”

“What? Oh, sure. Secret wolfy bonding stuff, I get it.” And he hangs up, leaving Peter staring bemusedly at the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

“He treated Stiles badly, left him to cope without an Alpha because he had ‘ _plans_ ’ that he couldn’t change,” Derek growls, his face creasing in anger at the very thought of it. “That’s not how it should be.”

Peter’s enormously gratified by Derek’s outrage on Stiles’s behalf, but he wouldn’t be who he is if he didn’t take the chance to play devil’s advocate. “Strictly speaking, Stiles wasn’t his responsibility. Scott didn’t give him the bite.”

Derek’s brows furrow further, and he treats Peter to an impressive scowl. “That’s not the point! Stiles is pack, even if Scott doesn’t recognize it! Scott’s happy to use Stiles when he needs him, but he’s never even offered him the bite! I asked him about it once, and he said Stiles couldn’t be trusted with the power that comes with being a were. You could see it on his face, the idea scared him. What kind of Alpha is afraid to offer the bite to his best friend?”

Peter couldn’t agree more. “A pitiful, pathetic one. Stiles is far better off in our pack.” _Our pack_ , his mind echoes. Peter’s the Alpha, and his pack is growing. It’s a heady thought. He turns his attention back to Derek. “Did you tell Scott you were leaving him?”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m waiting to see if he’ll even notice. The bonds are - they’re barely there, almost non-existent. They’re so weak that some of the others are struggling, and Scott has no idea.”  Peter thinks to himself that weak bonds are so very easily snapped, and how convenient that’s going to be for him. Whereas the bond with Derek, though new, is strong and bright, thrumming with energy.

“Tell me nephew, can you sense your bond with Stiles?” he asks, curious as to what the bond is like between his betas.

Derek actually laughs. “It feels _exactly_ like him. It’s constantly buzzing. Kid’s like a thousand-volt wire in my head.” Peter laughs with him, because that’s just how Stiles’s bond is, except that with Peter, there’s an undercurrent of _wantwantwantminemate_ that he knows Derek doesn’t share. At that moment Peter’s phone buzzes, and even as he grabs it, it lights up with a quick succession of texts.

_Why does Derek’s bond feel different?_

_From you I mean_

_Derek feels like warm cookies and Christmas and hugs_

_Yours makes me want to lick your neck_

_Wait_

_Oh my god_

_Is that the mate thing?_

_It is isn’t it?_

_I mean I don’t think it’s because you’re the Alpha, because I never saw any of Scott’s pack wanting to sit in his lap and grind against him or get all up in his business_

_Except for that one time with Isaac when he was drunk that we all pretend not to know about_

Peter snorts at the last one, and looks up from his phone to see Derek grinning at him. “Stiles has figured out the difference between our bonds,” he explains, and shows Derek his phone.

“Smart pup,” Derek comments. He pushes his chair back from the kitchen table and stands. “Thank you again, Uncle Peter.” Derek tilts his head to the side and runs a hand gently over the bitemark on his neck. It’s slow to heal, and it will leave a mark. Peter likes the way it looks.

“Trust me Derek, the pleasure was all mine.”

“What do you plan to do about McCall? He won’t take kindly to sharing his territory.”

Peter arches a brow. “My dear, sweet nephew. Who said anything about sharing?” The grin that earns him from Derek is fierce, almost bloodthirsty, and Peter knows his nephew will support him in whatever he chooses to do.

After Derek leaves, Peter calls Stiles. “Yes, it’s the mate bond,” he says without preamble. “Now, tell me about this thing with Scott and Isaac. Although really, I thought Isaac would have better taste.”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes Peter ten productive and extremely satisfying days to pull off his coup.

Two days after he accepted Derek’s offer, he approaches Isaac. Armed with what he knows about the man’s unrequited crush on Scott, he suggests that for the good of Isaac’s emotional health, another pack might be a better fit.

Isaac folds like a cheap suit at Peter’s offer, especially when Peter drops the information that Scott tried to run a newly bitten Stiles of town, and who’s to say he won’t do the same to Isaac if he gets uncomfortable in the face of unwanted affection?

Isaac doesn’t hesitate, and Peter almost feels bad, except that when the bond snaps into place he can tell that Isaac was in dire need of some guidance, and dangerously close to going off the rails. Scott hadn’t noticed.

 

* * *

 

Lydia’s next. “You need to be in a pack with an Alpha that appreciates exactly how brilliant you are. McCall isn’t that Alpha. And I want you in my pack because you’re brilliant and powerful and frankly terrifying, and I’d much rather have all of that on my side.”

“What’s in it for me?” Peter’s always adored Lydia’s pragmatism – they’re almost friends, now they’ve gotten past the way he used her for his own ends.

“Knowledge. Validation. Money. You’ll get full access to the books in the vault, the ones only Stiles and myself have been allowed to see. You’ll have equal standing with the wolves in the pack.  And I’ll pay off your student loans – all of them. I take care of my pack.” Peter knows damned well that despite her brilliance, Lydia’s extended studies have left her with a massive debt, and her family aren’t nearly as well off as they make out.

“Hmm.” Peter waits as Lydia pulls a nail file from her purse and smooths a rough edge. Finally her eyes flick up and she gives a sharp nod. “Pay my rent as well, and I’m in.”

“Done,” he agrees easily.

Lydia squeals when he bites down, even though it’s barely a scratch, just enough to spill blood. She won’t scar, not like the wolves will – she’d never stand for it. It’s purely symbolism and show. Still, the fact she was willing to let Peter bite her at all shows a level of trust he never thought he’d see, not from her.

He appreciates it.

 

* * *

 

 

Liam’s a delightful surprise. Peter always thought he’d be devoted to Scott, the hardest one to convince, but he seeks Peter out himself once he hears from Derek that Peter’s willing to take on new pack members. “I have anger issues,” he admits. “Scott can’t help. His best suggestion is still to chain me up at the full moon, and I can’t live like that anymore. I need someone stronger, someone who can take charge.”

Peter accepts with alacrity, and then disappears into the preserve with Liam for four long days, leaving Derek in charge. Saying he bullies Liam into submission makes it sound so much more violent than it really is. It’s more that he runs Liam to ground again and again, then pins him down as he taunts him, forcing him to learn to manage his temper.

It’s an old school technique, and it takes a lot of effort on both their parts, but it’s a tried and true method. Stiles had been on the right track with Scott and the lacrosse balls.  The whole thing is exhausting and exhilarating and nothing that Scott couldn’t have done at any time, if he’d just cared enough to do a little research, if he’d swallowed his pride and _asked_.

At the end of it, Liam is bruised and battered and grinning from ear to ear, finally at peace with himself for the first time since he was turned. Peter looks at him, proud of what they’ve achieved, and it occurs to him that there’s a place in his business for an apprentice. Now that he has a pack, he’ll need to cut back his hours, find someone to share his workload. And Liam has such a sweet face that anybody would trust him, but he also has an awful lot of aggression that’s going to need a regular outlet.

Liam jumps at the chance.

 

* * *

 

 

Jackson? He accepts Peter’s offer for no better reason than he can see how this is going to play out, and he’s always liked to be on the winning team. And where Jackson goes, Ethan follows. Peter gives them both the bite at the same time, with the rest of his pack present. Ethan lets out a low grunt, and then his eyes widen. “ _That’s_ what a pack bond feels like?”

“That’s what it should feel like, yes.” Peter knows he sounds smug, doesn’t care. He’s preening. Stiles is here for the first time in over a week, and Peter’s peacocking shamelessly. He spends a large part of the evening moving around the room laying casual touches on all his betas, scent marking them, aware of Stiles’s gaze on him, and if he happens to sense a tinge of jealousy in Stiles’s scent when he runs a hand over the back of Jackson’s neck, well. So much the better.

They’ve continued to talk and text, Peter keeping Stiles informed as he added new pack members, assuring Stiles that it’s all voluntary.  Peter plays on Stiles’s emotions a little when he tells him, “They agreed to join me because they didn’t want to stay with Scott after he abandoned you. They want to be where you are. The rest of the pack values you, even if McCall doesn’t.”

Stiles had cooed at that, and Peter could imagine him, sitting cross legged on his bed, head ducked down and blushing as he received the validation McCall had been too stupid or lazy to provide.

Stiles is the one who invited himself over. Peter knows Stiles is making his decision, and there’s an old saying about absence and hearts and fondness that Peter’s shamelessly exploiting right now. And finally, it’s paid off. Stiles called and said, “So, um, is pining for your Alpha a thing? I can’t sleep, and I can’t concentrate, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I need to see you. Please?”

Peter had been elated, but all he’d said was, “Come over tonight, sweetheart. I’m taking Jackson and Ethan into the pack, and afterwards we’ll spend some quality time together.”

Stiles’s sigh of relief was audible, and Peter had smiled to himself. It would be good for Stiles to spend time with the pack, and if Peter was very lucky, it would nudge him into making a final decision. Not that he really has any doubts now what it will be - he’s felt their bond fizzing and sparking, strengthening and changing over the past week, the pull becoming more intense, and he knows it’s changing from Stiles’s end, not his.

When it comes to Stiles, Peter’s want is a constant.

 

* * *

 

 

Now, Stiles moves across the room and places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, pulling him aside. “So, when do I get _my_ pack bite?” he asks, and oh yes, Peter can definitely see a hint of green eyed monster peeking out. 

“Oh sweetheart, when I bite you, it won’t be with any witnesses,” Peter purrs. “A mating bite’s a very private affair.”

Stiles’s cheeks go pink. “Assuming I say yes.”

“Assuming you say yes,” Peter agrees. He leans in closer. “If you say yes, I’ll mate you in the traditional style, the way a mating should be done. First, I’ll take you to bed and touch every inch of you, because you’re beautiful and you deserve to be touched. Then I’ll kiss you all over, nice and slow, get the taste of you in my veins and in my heart. I’ll use my hands and my mouth to tease you for hours, till you’re begging for my cock, crying to be fucked.

Once you’re ready, I’ll take you again and again, until you’re so sated you can’t move, and I’ll rub my come into your skin until the scent of us soaks down into the marrow of your very _bones,_ sweetheart. And then, and only then, when I’ve shown you what I have to offer, shown you that I can satisfy you, and you’re nice and pliant and biddable, I’ll ask you formally to be my mate. And you’ll be a good boy, and you’ll reply using the phrase that I’ll teach you, and then I’ll bite you right _here_.” He runs the barest tip of a finger over Stiles’s collarbone, earning a shudder. ”We’ll be properly mated, as werewolves should be.”

Stiles lets out a tiny whine. “Fuck, yes,” he whispers. “When?”

“Just say the word, sweet boy.” Peter traces his tongue along the shell of Stiles’ ear, knowing it’s a dirty trick and not caring. Peter didn’t just get himself a pack by playing nice.

Stiles pulls back, heartrate racing, breathing heavy. “Mate me. Teach me the words. This is a yes, just in case you missed it. A definite yes.”

Peter’s overcome with triumph, and he throws his head back and _howls_ in victory, cutting every conversation in the room short. He knows it’s dramatic, and he doesn’t care. All eyes snap towards him. “As lovely as this evening has been, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut it short. Stiles has agreed to be my mate.”

Derek grins, and Jackson rolls his eyes. “That’s no surprise. Stilinski’s had a Peter shaped boner for years.”

“Oh, really?” Peter asks breathily, still exhilarated at Stiles’s reply. It’s not like it’s news that Stiles is attracted to him, but he does like hearing that he was right.

“Okay, that’s enough, time for you to go, nice seeing you all, don’t call us, we’ll call you.” Stiles is blushing furiously as he hustles the pack out the door and locks it to the sound of Jackson’s raucous laughter.

He leans back against the door, and Peter gives in to his instincts. He stalks over and holds Stiles in place, pressing his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck, sucking a dark mark there.  Stiles groans loudly. “Fuck, your mouth.”

“Maybe I’ll let you later,” Peter says with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter takes Stiles to bed, and does everything he promised he would.  He takes his time, learns every inch of his lover’s body, caresses it with his hands and tongue, memorizing those places that make Stiles whimper and beg. The first time he sinks into Stiles’s soft, welcoming heat, he knows he was right to wait. Nothing will ever be as good as this, and he could never give it up now that he’s had a taste of it.

Stiles moans beneath him, and rocks his hips in a not so subtle hint. Peter leans down and traps Stiles’s mouth, kissing and licking at him as he fucks him for the first time. “Oh sweetheart,” he groans out. “We’re going to have such a good time, and then you’re going to be mine.”

“Yours,” Stiles agrees, breathless.

The night stretches out long, bodies wrapped together as they writhe and moan and pant against each other, and Peter couldn’t tell you which of them said it first, or when it happened, but by the time Stiles whines that he _just can’t_ , wrung out and spent and finally satisfied, the _I love yous_ are flowing freely back and forth between them, and Peter knows it’s time. He turns them so they’re laying facing each other, and he asks.

The ritual itself is simple. Peter asks, “Do you accept my offer to be your mate, freely given, and pledge yourself to me, and me alone?” 

All Stiles has to say is, “I agree to be your mate, and pledge myself to you, and you alone.”

He struggles to get it out, fuck-drunk and exhausted. He manages it though, words slurred, before tilting his head back in invitation.

Peter bites down.

 

* * *

 

Afterwards, when they can both breathe again, when the incredible rush of the mating bond has settled enough that the pair of them are no longer giggling like cheap drunks, Stiles runs a hand gingerly over the bite. “How come I never saw anyone else with a mating scar?”

Peter sobers a little. “Talia had one. So did our parents. You’ve only known young, unmated wolves.”

Stiles nods and accepts the explanation. “So, when do I get to leave my mark on you?”

Because when he heard about the ritual, of _course_ Stiles had demanded that he get to mark Peter as his. Peter had been quietly thrilled. Now, Peter tilts his head back. “Whenever you want, sweetheart.”

Stiles pulls himself up on his elbows, closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re glowing gold and his fangs are out. He bites down _hard,_ and Peter lets out a yelp.

Stiles just sinks his fangs in a little deeper. When he pulls away, he’s grinning wickedly. “You’re my _mate_ , and everyone will know it.” He licks the blood off his lips, and Peter quietly mourns the fact that there’s no way he can possibly do anything about the arousal that blooms in his gut at the sight. He’s done for the night – they both are.

A thought strikes him them. “Your father’s going to kill me for this. Fuck.”

Stiles drops back onto the pillow. “Nope. I’ll tell him. It'll be fine.”

Peter shakes his head. “No sweetheart, you don’t understand. I lied to your father, told him there was nothing going on between us. He’ll shoot me, skin my hide, and hang it on his office wall as a trophy, just for that.”

“Nope. We’ll go see him tomorrow, and I’ll explain about this super magic mating bond that came out of nowhere and how we’d both die painfully if we didn’t obey.”

“You won’t die from not securing a mating bond, sweetheart.”

“Well, yeah. We know that. But _he_ doesn’t. I can tell him anything now, and call it secret werewolf business. You’ll see.”

“He’ll never believe it.” Peter knows he sounds skeptical, because he is.

Stiles huffs in annoyance, and curls into Peter’s side. “Trust me, okay? You’re not the only one who can talk circles around someone, and it’s my dad. I can convince him of pretty much anything. Now, shhhh.” And then he makes a snuffling sound as he buries in closer, and promptly goes to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles Stilinksi is a lying liar who lies.

Peter’s always known it, but seeing Stiles in action is frankly breathtaking, and he finds himself watching, intrigued, as Stiles blinks earnestly at his father. “And then it was like, _boom_. There was nobody else except Peter in the room. It hit both of us out of nowhere, and were drawn to each other. I didn’t even know mating bonds were a thing, but it was almost painful, Dad. I wish I could make you understand just how intense it was.”

Peter almost believes it himself, and falls a little bit more in love with Stiles right then.

John Stilinski’s looking back and forth between them like he can’t quite decide if he’s being played or not, but his expression has gone from initially furious to just disbelieving, which Peter supposes is a step in the right direction. “And this just…happened,” he says, dubious.

“Uh huh. Our eyes locked, and it was like sparks flew. And Peter, he knew what it was, and he tried to get me to wait, said we needed to tell you first, out of respect, but I _couldn’t._ You said it yourself, I have zero impulse control.  I needed Peter like air, Pops. So I made the first move, threw myself at him. And once we started making out, we couldn’t have stopped if we wanted to. It was like I could feel him in my very _soul_ , you know?”

Peter manages to keep a straight face. Stiles was definitely feeling him last night, but probably not in his soul. John’s starting to nod along slowly now, his earlier suspicions crumbling under the sheer barrage of words Stiles is throwing at him.

Stiles continues to lay it on thick, explaining to his father that they’d been helpless to resist the call to each other, that it was either bond, or risk terrible suffering and death. He clutches at Peter’s hand, and his eyes are wide as he describes the sensation of rightness when they bonded. Peter can tell he’s not making that part up, at least.

“Aw, hell, kid. Did you even want this?” John runs a hand down the side his face and sighs wearily, and Peter’s struck with a sudden certainty that it’s a gesture he may soon start to emulate, living with Stiles as his mate.

Stiles nods decisively. “Peter’s the one for me.” His voice goes soft, tender. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. He’s perfect.” Stiles leans over and pecks Peter on the cheek, and that, funnily enough, is what sells the whole act.

“I remember your mother used to kiss me like that,” John says with a tiny smile. “I guess you two are pretty gone on each other?”

Peter meets the sheriff’s gaze, and he’s completely sincere when he says, “A mating bond is for life, John. There’s nobody else for me.”

John Stilinksi blinks back a tear at that, claps Peter on the shoulder, and says, “Well, hell. Welcome to the family, son,” while Stiles sits back and beams in triumph, the deceptive little asshole.

John asks if this means they’ll get married, and Stiles shrugs and says he doesn’t see the point, but if it’ll make his father happy, they can go ahead with a wedding at some stage. John nods approvingly, and Peter suspects that mystical werewolf bonds are all very well and good, but to a man of the law like the sheriff, nothing will ever match a signed certificate and a set of matching bands as proof of their commitment.

Afterwards, as they drive home, Stiles positively _crows._ “I told you I could talk him round! Did you hear? At the end there he actually called you _son_.”

Peter casts a glance at his laughing, happy mate. “Just promise me you won’t ever lie to me, all right? You’re too damn good at it.”

Stiles huffs and shakes his head. “As if I would. You already know what I’m like, I don’t need to protect you from my awfulness. But my dad, he doesn’t need to know some things.”

Peter’s strangely comforted that Stiles doesn’t feel the need to hide anything of himself.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What shall we do about Scott?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. JUST, WOW.  
> You guys are really invested in this, huh? I loved reading all your theories and comments, even if it was a little overwhelming. I love that you asked about things I knew the answer to already, y'all were so concerned that Scott might get away with it!  
> And now, I've read this thing a billionty times, and I'm at the stage of "Fuck it, I'm posting."  
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Also, as always, typos will be dealt with later.)

* * *

 

Peter needs to deal with McCall.

 

He doesn’t do anything right away, though. There’s no urgency, so he allows himself at least a few days to just soak up the fact that he’s suddenly the Alpha, and to a fair sized pack. _(Eight! He has a pack of eight!)_. During the day, there always seems to be one or more of them around, and Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, the way they seek him out, drawn to him instinctively.

He helps Stiles move in, and immediately despairs of ever having a clean house again. When Stiles sees that Peter’s cleared out wardrobe space for him, he beams at Peter’s thoughtfulness, then drags Peter to bed to show his appreciation for the gesture.

In fact, Stiles drags Peter to bed every chance he gets, and Peter doesn’t put up any resistance at all, dragging Stiles there just as often - he’s waited _six years_ for this, and is as eager as Stiles to indulge himself. Also, neither of them have any shame whatsoever.  The pack quickly learns to call or text first, and never, ever walk in unannounced. (Stiles snickered for days at the memory of Isaac bolting out of the kitchen, shouting “MY EYES!” when he caught Peter and Stiles using the kitchen counter for purposes that were less than sanitary.)

Suddenly, Peter’s life has gone from peaceful and organized to barely controlled chaos. He revels in it.

However, after four days of having as much sex they can, and of letting his pack settle into their new dynamic, Peter regretfully extracts himself from his bed and  from Stiles’s grip, gathers his pack, and asks the question.

“What, exactly, are we going to do about Scott?”

Every pack member assures him that they’ll abide by whatever he decides. He’s slightly overwhelmed by their immediate loyalty, but as Derek told him, they’ve been limping along with McCall as Alpha, turning to each other for the support he’s failed to provide. Peter already knew that of course – he was at least a nominal member of the pack, even if he spent a lot of time away working, but he hadn’t grasped how bad it had gotten.

Scott, it transpires, doesn’t talk to his pack unless he needs something. And since Peter’s been systematically removing any threats to Beacon Hills for years, Scott doesn’t need anyone all that often. So he doesn’t call, doesn’t spend time with them, doesn’t ask after their welfare. If they’re lucky, maybe once a month he’ll send out a generic text that’s basically a roll call.

Because he’s not a born wolf, he’s failed to notice the pack bonds slowly crumbling. By the time Peter stepped in, they were so weak they dissolved like wet tissue paper.

Peter’s thought long and hard about what he should do. Regretfully, Stiles is adamant that his initial suggestion of stringing the little weasel’s intestines across the preserve like a banner is apparently _‘going too far’_ , so he has to settle for something less bloodthirsty.

He’d sulk about it, but he knows that Stiles is right when he says, “Scott’s too popular with the little old ladies at the vet clinic. It’ll make too big a splash if he turns up dead, and my Dad can only turn a blind eye so many times.”

Peter still wants Scott to suffer for the way he’s mistreated his pack, the way he mistreated Stiles. Stiles, for his part has said goodbye to any lingering loyalty to his former best friend, especially since Scott still hasn’t bothered to call him. No, Scott was willing to hang Stiles out to dry, and now Stiles wants revenge.

He’s known Scott his whole life, knows what will hurt him the most. The things Scott values the most are his status as an Alpha, and his comfortable life in Beacon Hills. Stiles purrs in Peter’s ear that he knows how they can leave Scott homeless, friendless, and powerless, without a drop of blood being spilled.

Peter grins at the suggestions Stiles makes and pulls him in for a filthy kiss, calling him a malicious little beast. Stiles nods his agreement. “I am when it counts.”

Peter takes great pleasure in helping Stiles plan Scott’s downfall. It’s not like Scott doesn’t deserve what’s coming to him.  Finally, after bickering over the details, they figure out exactly how they’re going to deal with Scott.

Stiles, somewhat predictably, celebrates by taking Peter to bed.

 

* * *

 

 

A call is made.

Peter invites Scott over, to discuss how they’ll manage now there are two Alphas in Beacon Hills. Scott, it seems, has been so busy in his own little world that he wasn’t even aware Peter _was_ an Alpha. Stiles rolls his eyes so hard Peter can see the whites. “Aware or not Scott, the done thing is to meet and discuss territorial arrangements. Be at my place in half an hour.”

“But I have plans -“

“Tell your _plans_ you’ll call her back. Half an hour, or I’ll consider Beacon Hills forfeit, and take it over in the Hale name. And I want both packs in full attendance.”

Scott mutters that Peter doesn’t even _have_ a pack, before agreeing to come over and hanging up. _Idiot child,_ Peter thinks _._ At least Scott’s agreed to come over. Peter turns to his waiting pack. There’s not one among them that isn’t already thriving under Peter’s leadership, and they all have that predatory gleam in their eye.

Excellent.

 

* * *

 

 

Every phone in the room pings with a text from Scott over the next few minutes, saying

_Meet me at Peter’s place at six_

Not so much as a please or thank you, Peter notes idly. Well, that’s just plain rude.  None of them reply, but Derek informs him that usually Scott doesn’t seem to expect them to, just assuming they’ll obey.

Rude _and_ entitled.

At five past six, Scott knocks on the door. Peter goes to let him in, smiling pleasantly. “Hey, Peter.” Scott shoulders his way in the door without waiting to be asked. He nods at the sight of the assembled pack, who are all sitting or lounging on one of Peter’s two enormous couches. “Oh hey, you’re all here, good.” Scott clears his throat and tries to look authoritative. “Peter wants to divide Beacon Hills, and I don’t think we should let him.”

Peter notes that Scott barely glances at the other wolves, doesn’t acknowledge Stiles at all. Even if he did look, they’ve all been careful to conceal the fresh bite marks they all bear, signs of defection to a new pack. It wouldn’t do for Scott to catch on too early.  “Actually Scott, for once we agree. A divided territory is a terrible idea,” Peter says, catching McCall’s attention.

“Yeah?” Scott looks hopeful at that.

“Absolutely. What normally happens in these cases is that the larger pack stays in the territory, and the other Alpha moves on. But I didn’t want to assume that was the case here without consulting you.”

Scott grins. “That sounds fair, yeah. A big pack needs somewhere stable.”

Peter extends a hand. “So you agree? Beacon Hills becomes home territory to the larger pack?”

Scott doesn’t even blink. “I agree.”

Peter gives Scott his most charming smile. “Shall we shake on it and call it a contract?”

Scott hesitates. “How do I know you won’t back out on me?”

Peter smiles a little more sharply. “Surely you know Scott, a handshake between Alphas in front of the pack is considered a binding contract? Tell me you’ve learned at least _that_ much in six years? If either party breaks the agreement, the offending Alpha faces the death penalty.”

Scott’s eyes dart to Derek, who nods subtly in confirmation. “Yeah, I knew that,” he blusters, and sticks his hand out quickly, as if he’s afraid Peter will change his mind.

They shake hands, and it all goes downhill from there.

Downhill for Scott, that is.  

Not for Peter - he’s ecstatic. Scott shook on the deal without even questioning it, just Like Stiles predicted he would. And now Peter’s about to avenge his mate, regain his family land, and show off his Alpha power in front of his new pack, all with a handshake.

It’s glorious.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Excellent. Alpha McCall, you have twenty-four hours to leave Beacon Hills. I could demand immediate departure, but I’m giving you some time because I like your mother and she deserves the chance to say goodbye, even if you _are_ still sulking over her marrying Christopher.”

Scott gapes, and the shakes his head slowly. “I think you’ve got this wrong. I’m not leaving, you’re leaving. I have the bigger pack.” Scott gestures to what he thinks are his betas, who all stare at him wordlessly.

“Do you, though?” Peter lets his voice take on a condescending tone. “Do you really? Tell me Scott, how long since you even spoke to any of them?” Scott’s mouth opens and closes as he thinks about it, and he pulls out his phone with a frown. Peter steps right up close and peers at the screen. “Oh dear, it has been a while, hasn’t it? But surely you’ve texted them, inquired after their welfare? No?”

Peter plucks the phone from Scott’s hand and scrolls through it. “Hmm. You called Derek two weeks ago. I’m assuming that was when you told him to take care of Stiles because you were too busy getting your dick wet to be bothered.”

Scott swallows convulsively.

“Hey, Scotty.” Stiles stands and comes over so he’s next to Peter. “I survived, by the way, thanks for asking. Really overwhelmed by all the concern you’ve shown, man. Truly, I’m touched.”

“I was busy – “

“Yeah, yeah, busy, I get it,” Stiles says shortly.

Peter waits a moment to see if Stiles has anything else to say, but he seems to be done for now.  “You really have been _awfully_ neglectful of your pack, Scott. In fact, I bet you wouldn’t even notice if a terrible, sneaky, Alpha was to just…whisk them all away one by one, would you?” Peter says lightly, and waits for the penny to drop.

There’s movement in the room, as Peter’s pack stand and gather behind him, arms folded, faces grim. He hears Scott gasp, and assumes they’ve all exposed the bite marks on their throats, just as planned. He _knows_ they’ve fanned out into an impressive V formation behind him, because they’re dramatic bastards, every last one of them.

Stiles takes his place at Peter’s right hand, exactly  where he should be. Scott’s still staring at them, seemingly unable to comprehend what’s happened. That boy really is thicker than treacle. Peter sighs heavily. “I’ll spell it out for you, shall I? Check your pack bonds.” He waits, and sees Scott pale. “You don’t _have_ a pack anymore, haven’t had in almost a week.  You neglected them, and they left you, and you never even noticed them go.  I’m their Alpha now. So as per our agreement, you have twenty-four hours to get the hell out of Beacon Hills, and if you ever show your face here again, I’ll tear your throat out.”

Scott’s brow furrows as he works out what’s happened. Peter can see the moment he gets it. “You – you stole my pack?”

Peter shakes his head, even as his betas grumble among themselves. “See, that right there is the difference between us. I’d never assume I could _steal_ your pack, because I see them as _people_ , not _possessions_. My betas are in my pack because I made them an offer, and they said yes.”

 Scott looks at them disbelievingly as every single person backing Peter nods. His attention snaps to Stiles, who’s smiling grimly. “Stiles?”

Stiles shrugs. “Sorry, Scotty. You abandoned me. I was desperate, and you couldn’t even drag your ass over to see if I was okay, couldn’t even make a call. You sent Derek instead.”

“Derek’s a born wolf, he knows more about -“

“ _That’s not the point!_ You were meant to be my friend! You were supposed to be there for me! _You were supposed to care!”_ Stiles bellows. He’s breathing heavily, the anger rolling off him in waves.

Peter turns to face Scott, and his tone is icy.  “Stiles won’t help you now.”

Stiles juts his chin out. “Nope. You’re on your own. Do you know how much it hurts, when your so-called friend tries to run you out of town? No? Well, I guess you’re about to find out. Get out, or I’ll gut you myself.”

Peter laughs, sharp and cruel. “I do love it when you let your claws out, sweetheart.” He draws Stiles in for a lingering kiss, purely to see the shock on Scott’s face as he realizes that Stiles and Peter are a couple. “Oh, did I not mention that Stiles and I are mates? Silly me.” He kisses Stiles again, and Stiles grabs him by the hips and pulls him close, rubbing Scott’s nose in the fact they’re together. Sometimes, it’s the little things that bring the most satisfaction.

 When they part, he sees Stiles grinning evilly, and knows he’s thinking the same thing. Peter turns his attention back to McCall, who’s still staring.  “Now run along home and pack, there’s a good boy.” Peter makes a shooing motion, while Stiles snickers next to him.

“But - I need a pack. I’ll go feral without one -“

“Not my concern.”  Peter’s voice is hard now, unforgiving. “I simply _can’t_ have a packless wolf on my territory, I’m afraid. It’s really for the best if you go. After all, you’d probably only hurt your mother if you stayed.”

Scott goes deathly pale, then. “You!” He points at Stiles. “You planned this just because i asked you to leave! You did this to me!”

Stiles shrugs, and wraps his arm firmly around Peter’s bicep. “You did it to yourself. Shouldn’t have been a dick to your pack, Scotty.”

 “It’s true.” Derek speaks up for the first time, advancing till he’s toe to toe with Scott. “You never took care of your pack, and you don’t deserve us.”

“But Peter - “

“Peter’s done more for us in a week than you did in six years.” It’s Liam who speaks out now. “He’s an asshole, and pushy, and fucking infuriating.” Peter raises a brow in warning at Liam, who flushes. “But he’s also taught me to control my temper, something you never bothered with.” He shoots a guilty glance Peter’s way. “Sorry, Alpha.” Peter nods at him in acknowledgement, and satisfaction spreads through his whole body at the grateful smile Liam gives him.

Peter can’t help himself – he rubs a little more salt into the wound. “Do you know what I find entertaining, Scott? Apparently, you’ve set the bar _so low_ that every one of my betas would sooner throw in their lot with a known killer than stay with you.  Doesn’t say a lot for your leadership, does it?”

Scott seems to deflate before their eyes, but only momentarily. “You can’t run me out of town. I refuse to go!”

Peter shakes his head. “Oh dear, Scott. Whatever will we do? I guess the only way forward is a pack war. My betas against yours – oh wait, that won’t work for you at all, will it? Never mind, I have another solution.” He pulls out his phone, and dials.

“We’re proceeding with plan B. Refuses to abide by our agreement. I was going to give him a day to say his goodbyes, but he’s forfeited that by threatening to start a pack war. Yes, I quite agree. Far too many animal attacks already. Thank you, Sheriff.”

Peter disconnects the call and turns to Scott. “The Sheriff will escort you out of town. He’s waiting downstairs. He’ll take you to your mother’s house so you can say goodbye, and then drive you out of the state. You have half an hour.”

That last part was honestly unplanned, but it's a wonderful bonus  -when Peter had called the sheriff and told him that he was taking over as Alpha and that they planned to run Scott out of town, John had responded with, ”Hell, I’ll take him if you want. Got one or two things I wanna say to the kid, and a nice long drive will be the perfect opportunity.”  At the thought of Scott trapped in a car for hours with an angry Sheriff, Peter had readily agreed.

Scott’s still protesting futilely. “You can’t run me out of town! My Mom won’t let you!”

At that, Peter mimes a crying action. “ _Waaah!_ _If you pick on me, I’m telling my Mommy!”_ he mimics in his best falsetto. It’s probably cruel, but right now he doesn’t care. Scott needs to get out of his sight, before Peter really does slice him open with his claws.

Peter drops his hands and his tone becomes serious. “I’m not totally heartless, Scott. I’ve done you a favor. I made some calls, and the Jameson pack in Nevada have agreed to take you in. John’s going to deliver you there himself to make sure you don’t get any ideas about heading back this way.” Peter waits just long enough to see a spark of hope in Scott’s eyes, and then extinguishes it cruelly. “Of course,” he adds, “They’ll only take you on the proviso that you forfeit your Alpha power. But it’s the best offer you’ll get, and you’d be wise to take it. I should warn you, they’re a very traditional pack, so you’ll be expected to submit fully as a beta, or I’ve heard they can get physical. But that won’t be a problem for you, surely?”

“But – my mom –“  Scott’s eyes are wide and scared. _Good,_ Peter thinks meanly.

“It’s not like she'll miss you, after the way you bleated about her wedding. You’re lucky I’m letting you see her at all. And as far as she’s concerned, the story is that there’s another pack after you, and you’re running for your life. John’s escorting you out of state for your safety.” He pauses. “None of those things are actually untrue, Scott, and you’d do well to remember it.”

Scott shows no signs of moving, and Peter’s suddenly _so very done_ with all this. He lets his fangs and claws drop, and he _roars_. It echoes through the room, and it’s deeply satisfying to watch Scott go deathly pale as he realizes, finally, that he’s truly alone.  Scott’s hands are balled in fists of rage, his eyes are damp, and Peter can tell by looking at him that he’s finally beaten.

Scott turns and stalks out the door, and Peter pulls Stiles close and feels a grim satisfaction bloom deep within him, suffusing his whole being.

He does so love it when a plan comes together.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff.

 

Peter gets a call from John the next day. Scott has been delivered to the Jameson pack and stripped of his alpha powers. The Sheriff reports, somewhat gleefully, that on arrival, McCall had been stupid enough to make eyes at Nate Jameson’s sixteen-year-old daughter. The alpha hadn’t taken kindly to that, and had beaten the living tar out of him.

Peter thinks it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

* * *

 

 

Stiles races ahead of Peter, ducking swiftly through the trees, and Peter chases after him. They’re both shifted, the light of the full moon reflecting off their fangs as they raise their heads and howl in unison.

Peter knows the rest of the pack are out here, but he also knows they won’t follow – he’s made it very clear that on their first full moon together, he and Stiles are to be left alone. (Peter has no intention of being some kind of dictator where his betas are concerned – they’re all grown ass adults, and don’t need him laying down the law. But it’s nice to know that when he _does_ issue an order, they’ll obey.)

Stiles is close - Peter can taste the scent of him in the air. He puts on a burst of speed , and sure enough, as he pelts forwards into a clearing, he sees Stiles scrambling round the corner. Peter leaps forwards and lands squarely on his back, pinning Stiles down and placing his fangs around the back of his neck, holding him there.

Stiles splutters and thrashes, spitting out a mouthful of leaves. “Dick,” he slurs, and Peter laughs.

“Later,” he gets out, panting.

They’re both breathing heavily, and Stiles holds a clawed hand up in surrender. “G’off.”

Peter climbs off his back, and they both lay on their backs in the leaf litter, chests heaving from the chase. They’ve spent the night in the preserve, chasing each other down. Peter’s caught Stiles five times so far, Stiles has caught Peter twice.  They’ve barely slowed down all night, and Peter’s starting to tire, so he’s happy to take a break. Daybreak’s not far off, and he can feel the pull of the moon lessening.  He sits up and sees that Stiles has shifted back to human form.

“Need my words,” Stiles explains, and Peter grins and shifts back himself. He’s amazed Stiles has managed to stay quiet this long.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Peter asks, still a little in love with the way the endearment rolls off his tongue.

“Can we go to the outcrop? Wanna watch the sunrise from there.” Stiles tilts his head and makes puppy dog eyes, knowing Peter can’t resist.

“As long as you climb up yourself. I’m not your pack horse any more.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Please. I bet I could beat you to the top.”

Peter grins and raises a brow. “Oh, you _bet?_ And what do I get when I win?”

Stiles considers. “A kiss?”

“Deal!” Peter calls out, as he bolts along the trail suddenly, leaving Stiles in his wake.

Nobody ever said he fought fair.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s waiting at the top when Stiles drags himself over the edge. “Cheater,“ Stiles accuses.

Peter shrugs. “I prefer to think of it as playing the odds. And really, you should have expected it.” He steps forward and drapes his arms over Stiles’ shoulders. “Now, where’s my prize?”

Stiles melts against him, eager and hungry, kissing him like they haven’t seen each other for weeks, as if they haven’t made love every day since they were mated, usually more than once. Stiles has embraced his enhanced senses and newfound stamina with glee, and he’s insatiable. Peter really doesn’t mind. He's waited a long time for Stiles to be his, and he plans to enjoy every second.

When their lips part, Stiles waggles his eyebrows. “Sooo, bonus prize? I could blow you?”

Peter shakes his head. “Your fangs are a little close to the surface, sweetheart. I’m not willing to risk it.” Sure enough, there’s the tip of an elongated tooth peeking over Stiles’s bottom lip.

Stiles sighs. “Maybe we could find somewhere to lay – “

“Absolutely not. I told you before, the rocks are far too uncomfortable.”

Stiles pouts, and Peter rolls his eyes. “Greedy little thing. Tell you what, next time we come here, we’ll bring some nice, soft, blankets, and have some fun,” he suggests, knowing that Stiles will hold him to it and not really minding. There’s a small open cave where they can build a nice little love nest.

“Thank you, Alpha,” Stiles purrs, limbs still wrapped around Peter. “I do love it here.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Stiles’s brow furrows a little, and he sniffs the air. Peter watches, amused, as he raises his head and sniffs harder. “Last time I was here, I don’t remember it, but – “ He lets go of Peter completely and walks over to a sheltered corner, crouching and pressing his nose close to the ground. He stands up, nose wrinkled. “Peter, did I _pee_ when I was up here?” he looks slightly shocked at the idea.

Peter considers it. “I have no doubt you did, darling. You were up here for a day and a night after all, and I don’t think you were considering the social niceties at the time.”

Stiles screws up his face. “Oh my god, I peed on our special spot! I’m so sorry!”

Peter laughs softly. “What, you thought you just crossed your legs? You were in wolf form, of course you peed. In fact,” he teases,” I think you probably peed over the ledge, if the smell down there when I found you was anything to go by.”

Stiles looks utterly mortified. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “I think, I think I did! I remember, I was so pleased to get to the top on my own, the wolf went crazy. I sprayed the whole place!”

Peter snorts. “I can just imagine it. Tell me sweetheart, were you trying to write your name, or claiming the spot as your own?”

“It’s not funny!” Stiles grumbles, arms folded.

Peter wraps himself around Stiles’s back, hands rubbing up and down Stiles’s biceps. “Every young wolf does things they’d rather forget, sweet boy. Just be glad you weren’t like my family. They tended to collect keepsakes. And it was always understood that anything brought back by a pup from a full moon absolutely wasn’t to be taken from them, which in some cases was a little unfortunate.” 

Stiles tilts his head. “Really?”

“Really. Cora dragged a set of antlers that was bigger than her back to the house when she was four, and kept them in her room for three years.”

That earns Peter a snicker, so he carries on. “Derek bought home a rabbit’s skull, and hid it under the floorboards.”

“That’s not so bad,” Stiles says, leaning back.

“Not normally, no. But this still had the rest of the rabbit attached. It was absolutely rancid. Talia had to promise to give the cleaned bones back before Derek would let her near it.”

At that, Stiles does laugh. “So, you’re telling me that peeing off a cliff isn’t so bad?”

“Barely even rates, sweetheart.” Peter lets his voice drop to a seductive purr. “After all, once we get some blankets up here, and you let me have my wicked way with you, this whole place will probably smell like us.”

“Mmm. I like the sound of that.” Stiles snuggles back into Peter’s hold as they look out over the preserve, the first rays of sunshine piercing the darkness, lighting up the sky. He tilts his head back and looks at Peter. “What about you?”

“What about me what?” Peter asks, distracted by the sunrise.

Stiles elbows him to get his attention. “You. What filthy thing did you drag home from the preserve and refuse to part with?”

Peter kisses the top of Stiles’s head gently. “That would be you, sweetheart.”

 

 


End file.
